
G. H. HILL 



SCENES 



FROM 



THE LIFE OF AN ACTOR. 



COMPILED FROM THE JOURNALS, LETTERS, AND 
MEMORANDA OF THE LATE 



YANKEE HILL. 

WITH ORIGINAL ILLUSTRATIONS, 

ENGRAVED ON WOOD BY J. W. ORR. 



"Will you see the players well bestowed?" 
" I will use them according to their deserts." 
Odds Bodikins, man, much better. Use every man after his deserts, 
and who shall 'scape a whipping ?" 



NEW-YOEK: 
GARRETT & CO., 18 ANN-STREET. 

1853. 



i 



HsA3 






Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1853, by 

C. HILL, 

In the Clerk's office of the District Court of the United States for the 

Southern District of New- York. 



PREFACE. 



Is it true, that the title of a Book is one attractive 
point to the reader in search of novelty? If so, 
there is much in a name. The reputation of an author, 
doubtless, adds to the promise given in the chosen 
title, and if the expected work be the biography of 
a person eminent during his life, popular from the 
possession of talents, exerted in pleasing or astonishing 
such of his fellow-beings as came within his sphere 
of action, then public attention may be reasonably 
expected to be excited at its advent, and its mission 
for good or ill established by critics competent to 
judge. 

Men of different political views, persons whose 
religious creeds are at variance, naturally enough 
would differ when a proposition was offered for con- 
sideration by one of their number, although the pro- 
fessed object was given out as one of general good. 

But there are subjects upon which men of different 
political or religious creeds may agree, and, perhaps, 
the question, what purpose is served by the preserva- 
tion of the records of the life of a comedian, might, 



IV PREFACE. 

at the first point of inquiry into the subject, appear 
not to be one of them. 

A due reflection upon the changes of time, and the 
truism so often quoted in illustration of the chequered 
scenes of men's action on the stage of life, will compel 
us to pause, and after, perhaps, to admit that the life 
of a comedian may have been an eventful one, and 
lessons of practical value to those who study them 
from the pages of record. The great poet has written : 

" Sweet are the uses of adversity; 

And this, our life, 

Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, 

Sermons in stones, and good in everything." 

" Every man in his time plays many parts." 

In an existence of near forty years, George Handel 
Hill, in this direction fulfilled the spirit and letter 
of the quotations above. 

Ask of the American public what name is connected 
with more pleasing associations, from the east to the 
west, from the north to the south, than that of Yankee 
Hill. 

There must be a reason for the universal popularity 
of any individual. Those persons — and their name is 
legion — who have witnessed the exercise of Hill's pe- 
culiar talent upon the stage of the theatre, will under- 
stand the foundation of his popularity. 

Many who have never enjoyed the sight of the 



PREFACE. 



great delineator of " Yankee character " upon the 
stage, in all the " glory of his art," have yet had the 
opportunity to witness his powers in the lecture room ; 
others know him only by the rank that fame 
has given him, and except as reproduced in the pages 
of a life, can never become acquainted with his sayings" 
and doings, nor be able to judge in any degree of the 
elements in his character which in his professional 
doings invested it with an honorable celebrity. 

A player may be said to live two lives, one a public, 
the other a private life. The one may be said to belong 
to the public, and which under their guardianship is 
modified according to the creating power which gave 
and preserves its vitality. The public voice creates 
the popular actor — public patronage sustains him — ■ 
and except from motives of curiosity, cares little to 
enquire into the private life of the Richard of the 
hour, or of the comedian's habits in his home. Civ- 
ilized society expects of him obedience to the laws 
and the duties of a citizen; and though the player 
may be admitted into circles notable for talent and 
character, it is generally the homage that talent pays 
to talent, or genius ; and in the player's career the 
art and the artist must divide the honors. 

In giving to the public this life of Yankee Hill, it 
may not be improper to state that the restoration of a 
lost trunk, containing manuscripts and letters connected 
with Mr. Hill's professional journeyings, also, placed 



VI PREFACE. 



at the writer's disposal, parts of a journal kept by Mr. 
Hill, with some chapters of a Life of Yankee Hill, by 
himself, which it was his intention to publish when he 
had arrived at the age of fifty years. His destiny was 
fulfilled half a score of years before that time. If he 
had lived to complete the half century and his written 
life, his contemporaries on the great stage of life, and 
those who toiled with him on the mimic world's arena, 
would have welcomed the preserved associations of 
their youth with enthusiasm. The dramatic fund of 
humor and character, would also have received an in- 
stalment valuable and accessible to the future candi- 
dates for favor in that field in which he had so nobly 
earned his enviable reputation. 



CONTENTS 



CHAP. I. Birth — Parentage — Infantile Development, beginning 

many of my Projects in after-life begun, doth this Chapter 
with Descriptions of a Future, and Actions Consequent 
upon Impulsive, Conceptive Thought — Occasional Digres- 
sions and Reflections Characteristic of the Subject, . 
II. Early School Days — First appearance at School among the 
Children in Boston — Remove to Raynham, and there Ap- 
pear in the District School — Adventure on my First Ap- 
pearance in this Character — Proposal from my Relatives to 
Attend a Course of Studies at the Bristol Academy in 
Taunton — Reflections on the Past — Expectations for the 
Future, 



Page. 



18 



III. 



IV. I 



VI. 

VII. 



VIII. 



IX. 



44 



Academic Life — Seeing the Elephant and his Associates in 
Taunton — Symptoms of Dramatic Inoculation — Introduc- 
tion to Euclid — A Play in the Parsonage House — Some 
Taunton Characters — A Horse Story — A Long Chapter, 
Terminating with Preparations for a Change of Residence 
— And the Parting Words to Taunton Friends — " Good Bye 

TiU I See You Again, 27 

Depart for Boston — The Left-Handed Stage-Driver— First 
Sight of the Interior of a Theatre — The Musician — Lessons 
in Music — A Short Chapter, 

Early Journeyings — Visit to New York — Goes into Business 
— Peep behind the Curtain of the Park Theatre — Acquaint- 
ance with the Performers — I First "Witness a Play — I Meet 
my Brother — Learn Comic Songs — Choice of Steps to Dra- 
matic Fame — I Select the Character of a Peruvian, who 
had not Much to Do and Nothing to Say, in Pizarro — I Ap- 
pear before a New York Audience for the First Time — I 
Give an Entertainment in Brooklyn — Am Engaged by a 
Country Manager, and Commence Acquaintance with the 
Vicissitudes of a Stroller's Life — Love and Romance, 

My Elopement and Marriage, . . . . . 

I am a Married Man — I enter into Speculations which are 
not Profitable in the way of Trade — The Dramatic Virus is 
at Work— I Engage at the Albany Theatre— My Theatrical 
Life Fairly Begun, 

Leave Albany — Visit Charleston — Ideas of Yankee Charac- 
ter—My Song— I Visit Philadelphia— First Appearance in 
that City in a Prominent Yankee Character, . 

I Visit New York to Secure an Opening at the Park Theatre- 
Interview with Mr. E. Simpson — Scene in the Box-Office — 
I Play at the Park— I Play in Different Cities, and Enter- 
tain the Idea of Visiting Europe, .... 



68 



73 



81 



Vlll CONTENTS. 

CHAP. X. A Trip to Taunton, Massachusetts, with a Dramatist, for the 
Purpose of Hunting up Old Acquaintances, and Getting 
Hints for a New Character — The Sage of Quincy— The Post 
Family, as Illustrated by Major Enoch Wheeler — The In- 
sane Companion, 88 

XI. A Trip to Carlisle — A Stay at Lexington — Thunder Storm — 
Characters of the Village Inn — The Old Revolutioner and 

his Story, 102 

XII. The Journey to Carlisle — Midnight Arrival and Visit to the 
Minister — The Comedian and the Clergyman — The Blessing 
and the Baked Potatoes — The Farewell — The Clergyman's 
Fortune — Departure from Carlisle, ... .114 

XIII. First Visit to England — Appearance at Drury Lane Theatre 

— Ideas of England — Return, 126 

XIV. Trade— d—n Trade, 133 

XV. Mr. Hill's Second Trip to England — He Visits France — Gives 

an Entertainment in Paris — Return, .... 138 
XVI. An Engagement in Boston, 1841 — Late Appearance — Illness 
— Mr. Hill Resolves to Leave the Stage — Enters as a Student 
in the Office of a Distinguished Surgeon in Boston — Matri- 
culates in the Medical School of Harvard University — Pur- 
chases Books and Instruments of all kinds for the Practice 

of Surgery — Anecdotes, 146 

XVII. The Hackman's Story — Recruiting Service, Etc., . . 154 
XVIII. The Author and the Actor— The Snuffers— Scenes and Cha- 
racters — Green Mountain Boy — New England and its Pe- 
culiarities, 164 

XIX. Stars — Stars — And Making Engagements, .... 196 
XX. The Mogul Tale — An Engagement with a Celebrated iEro- 

naut, 213 

XXI. Last IUness and Death of Mr. Hill, 229 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 



PORTRAIT OF MR. HILL. 
THE VISION ^ 
MAJOR ENOCH WHEELER. 
NATHAN TUCKER. — ^ 
JEDEDIAH HOMEBRED. 
HIRAM DODGE. / 



PICTORIAL LIFE 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 



CHAPTER I. 



" All the world's a stage, 

And all the men and women merely players : 

At first, the infant, mewling and puking in the nurse's arms." 

BIRTH — PARENTAGE — INFANTILE DEVELOPMENT, BEGINNING AS MANY OP 
MY PROJECTS IN AFTER-LIFE BEGUN, DOTH THIS CHAPTER, WITH DESCRIP- 
TIONS OF A FUTURE, AND ACTIONS CONSEQUENT UPON IMPULSIVE, CON- 
CEPTIVE THOUGHT — OCCASIONAL DIGRESSIONS AND REFLECTIONS CHA- 
RACTERISTIC OF THE SUBJECT. 

One night, some years ago, in the theatre in Phila- 
delphia, it was my assigned duty to represent one of 
the citizens in the play of Julius Caesar. I had consi- 
derable to do in the play, as the citizen ; though entrust- 
ed by the immortal bard who transferred this historical 
episode to the stage of the theatre with but few words 
expressive of my opinion as a Roman, of the doings in 
which Marcus Brutus, Caius Cassius, Marcus Antonius, 
and the aforesaid great Julius Caesar, played conspicuous 
parts. 

My principal duty was to take my cue from others of 
name, and shout lustily— now for Brutus, now for Cas- 
sius, Anthony, or Caesar. 

I led the mob— others led me ; I made a great noise, 
flourished my club, as Roman citizens have ever done, 



8 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



according to stage tradition. This part was entrusted 
to me in consequence of some indication of comic ability 
discovered by the manager in my acting. I was dissa- 
tisfied with the part ; there was no name in the bill. 
The representative of the masses, and without a name, 

Citizen Mr. Hill. Among his fellows, he was a 

man of mark ; yet had Shakspeare passed his acts down to 
future times without a name. .Returning to my dwelling 
after the performance, the crowd were praising Cooper's 
Marc Anthony. I was among the crowd, and heard their 
opinions. " How like h — ," — well, I can dispense with 
the simUe — " Hill shouted, didn't he ?" said a sailor to 
his mate. " Yes," said his companion. " What was the 
name of his part ?" the first speaker inquired. " He 
didn't have any ; he was only one of the citizens." The 
continuation of their conversation was lost, drowned in 
the different noises usually made by the occupants of the 
pit and galleries, when fairly let loose from the jaws of 
a full house, at the close of a performance given for the 
benefit of a popular actor. 

" He didn't have any name," still rung in my ears. I 
refreshed my inner man with a cold lunch, read over a 
small part I had to play on the following night, and re- 
tired to rest, the part without a name haunting me in 
my sleep. I determined from that moment to play parts 
with names, and if possible to do something, in my way, 
that should make my name remembered. I do not in- 
tend to anticipate the events or incidents of my journey- 
ings as a player in my country or in foreign lands. 

My intention is only in this, the beginning of my life, 
which may be presented hereafter to the public, to give 
a reason why my life should have been written by my- 
self at all. In the first place, no one could be supposed 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 9 

to be so well acquainted with my life as myself — who 
judge so well my motives or actions, which, judged by 
the common standard of motives, might do me no credit \ 
My intentions were nothing but good ; though the 
results were not, sometimes, the most fortunate for my- 
self or others connected with me, in the actions conse- 
quent upon them. 

"What right have I, within the circle of temptations 
that beset poor human nature, to expect to be exempt 
from error, or the frailties inherent in man? ISTone 

If I know myself at all, I am too impulsive. Some 
good and some evil has followed this want of direction 
over myself. I wanted a name. I begin this life in the 
hope that my name will live after me ; and that my 
children, in common with others who may read it, may 
profit by my doings, even if they have arrived at man- 
hood's time before, in this form, it is made known to 
them. Is there vanity in this ? Perhaps so ; I can't 
help it. I am not the first player who has written his 
own life. Each one who has served up himself in this 
way may have had different motives — among them not 
the least, perhaps, was the desire to preserve to their 
name the fame acquired in the days of triumph. 

Evanescent is his glory, who, upon the stage, is emi- 
nent ? Reputation, like the kings raised by Hecate's in- 
cantations, 

" Come like shadows, so depart." 

Two lives are here to be noted — a natural life, which 
probably had its origin in the way all mortals originate. 
For this life I am in no way responsible. 

My professional life and its accidents are the results 
of the exercise of free will, and if the first life has been 



10 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 

productive of anything useful, it is to the second, or pro- 
fessional life and its influences, that the good must be at- 
tributed. Colley Cibber wrote an apology for his life. I 
have no apology to make, as I consider the evil of my 
living lies at the door of the two respectable individuals 
who claimed me as their child for the first time on the 
eighth day of October, in the year of our Lord, 1809. 

Whatever expectations had been entertained for me, 
or of me, previous to this time, I am unable to say. My 
first appearance on the stage of life was in Boston, the 
capital of Massachusetts. 

I had the usual share of uncles, aunts, cousins, nieces, 
grandfathers, and grandmothers. 

My advent had been suggestive of certain ceremonies, 
all of which in due time had been performed under the 
auspices of proper directors. 

I have understood that I never was large for my age, 
whatever that age might have been when the question 
of size came up for domestic discussion. 

When " Little Hill" was called I answered, whether 
it was to receive my share of bread and butter, the usual 
Sunday dinner of baked beans and Indian pudding, or 
the birch for sundry indiscretions laid to my charge, and 
of which I was always innocent, but rarely took the 
trouble to deny. From absolute knowledge, I will not 
undertake a narrative of events previous to my fourth 
birth day. 

I went out of long skirts into short skirts ; left off nurs- 
ing, and other habits connected with babyhood, at the 
time thought proper for young gentlemen ot my age and 
character; cut my teeth, wore trowsers, went to bed 
without a light or a singing of " lullaby" from any of 
the female members of the family, under whose especial 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 11 

care I was till my fourth birth day, an epoch I at this 
hour distinctly remember. 

A friend of the family, to show his regard for that 
scion of the " Hill" tree which had been duly christ- 
ened George, had purchased a silver spoon of large di- 
mensions, considering it was to be used to feed the 
aforesaid George. Upon it was engraved, "George 
Handel Hill ; given to him by a friend." 

Although I could not say that I was born with a 
silver spoon in my mouth, I certainly at this time made 
good use of the spoon now mine by right. I remember 
how proud I was of " my" spoon, with " my name" on it. 
The little sins of human nature began to show them- 
selves. " My spoon" was the cause of envy, jealousy, 
and other wicked passions, diluted, of course, to proper 
weakness to fill the bosoms of my cousins and play- 
mates, causing quarrels, names-calling, and other juve- 
nile mischiefs. 

I have given the correct date of my birthday ; and I 
trust some friend upon whom will devolve the duty of 
fixing a date to the finishing of my life, will be as par- 
ticular. If I had made any great philosophical dis- 
covery, or immortalized myself by the invention of 
some useful aid to the art of navigation, or any of the 
arts or mysteries connected with, the wants of the world, 
I undoubtedly should have deemed it necessary to have 
marked that day upon which said discovery or invention 
was made, that future discoverers or inventors might 
not infringe upon my right of priority, thus robbing me 
or my posterity of the fame due, in that case, their 
illustrious predecessor. During my life, both in my boy- 
hood and manhood, there have been times when my san- 
guine impulses bid me onward, as the embryo idea of 



12 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



some great invention was struggling for birth, nearly de- 
stroying the tabernacle in which my spirit of genius was 
resident by the throbs of mental labor incident to the 
great delivery. 

The mountain and the mouse, allegorically applied to 
my case, was always the result of all my endeavors to 
travel on the road to fame ; my exchequer filled with 
drafts upon the Bank of Hope, for road expenses, to be 
paid one day in good current coin out of the proceeds of 
my scientific lucubrations. 

The fiend was ever at my elbow tempting me, saying, 
" You are genius mechanical ; ponder, persevere and 
demonstrate." It was a foul fiend ; and though never 
leaving the circle in which I moved, was jostled so often 
by the nymphs or the muses attend at the time 
upon my dramatic longings, that I did not become quite 
a monomaniac under the hallucination adverted to above. 

Dates then may be considered out of the question. I 
have not kept a regular journal — a task often attempted 
and as often abandoned. Loose days and hours are em- 
bodied in loose memoranda. These, with the aid of 
memory, constitute the basis of this written life. 

Among my first recollections, strongest of all is the 
name of Napoleon Bonaparte. He had become the 
terror of Europe, and many an American father and mo- 
ther used the name of Boney to frighten the children to 
bed at early candle-light. I can vouch to this day 
for the fact as regards my parent. Little then did I think, 
as I shrunk beneath the quilt — my head under the pil- 
low — at this name of terror, who was the cause of the 
same, and what were his deeds, whose threatened com- 
ing made " each particular hair to stand on end, like 
quills upon the fretful porcupine." Boney is coming — alas, 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 13 

he came — and lie is gone ! How I devoured his published 
life when first the precious duodecimo came into my 
hands. Night and day I was swallowing the battles and 
the speeches to his troops ; the military ardor seized me 
and I was shouting victory throughout the house, knock- 
ing down tables and chairs, by cannonades of flat irons ! 
crossing the Alps on clothes-horses, and pelting the 
maids in my own and the neighbors ' domiciles with all 
sorts of missiles ; hanging traitor cats and dogs on the 
trees or clothes-lines, and doing all sorts of juvenile mi- 
litary mischief, instated principally by Boney's exam- 
ple ; and the occasional sham fights I witnessed by the 
militia of the town, conducted with all the precise 
solemnity and utility usual in the days when I was a 
boy. I thought I should be a soldier, and studied dili- 
gently the art of war. 

In all lives, the years from ten to fifteen of most 
boys cover a medley of actions. As I look back to the 
days composing those years, I do not find much to regret, 
or that I wilfully did a grievous wrong. I think I was 
a modest, well-behaved boy. The occasional outbreaks 
of genius were quieted by the practical cold water appli- 
cations of my instructor, who never failed to convince 
me of the absurdity of some of my propositions before 1 
had promulgated my crudities to my schoolmates ; thus I 
escaped ridicule and sarcasm— weapons not of the hands — ■ 
always to be used against me with effect ; the strokes 
of which I could never successfully parry, if directed by 
hands skilled in this kind of fence. 

I do not know that some part of my history, however 
interesting to me, and to the friends who may survive me, 
will be cared for by those who only know Yankee Hill 
as one of the "amusing vagabonds" of his day ; and who 



14 PICTOEIAL LIFE OF 



in his, written life, seek only for the amusement his act- 
ing life afforded. 

Others expect in a life, detail ; and if one's father or 
mother had happened to have been hanged, and the off- 
spring, as in this case, from choice or necessity becomes 
the family chronicler, the truth would be expected from 
his pen at the proper time, and in the proper place, with 
some liberal allowance on the reader's part for any ex- 
tenuating circumstance as to the innocence of the stran- 
gled parties or the unusual severity of the sentence in the 
case for the smallness of the offence. 

With the avowal of my objection to hanging anything 
living as a punishment — and certifying also that neither 
my father or any of my connections or relations were 
disposed of in this way — I dismiss the further consider- 
ation of the subject. 

I am not writing the characters of the " Hills," nor do 
I intend to transmit to posterity the life of my parents. 

I have noticed on a previous page, that the responsi- 
bility of my existence rested upon the respectable indi- 
viduals, my father and mother. A further responsibility 
rests on parents, in the raising of their offspring, and 
giving them, according to their means, a good moral 
training, and substantial education. 

Philosophers and others who have condescended to 
write upon that association of human impulse called 
Love, state, as an axiom, that love at first sight is not 
enduring in its smitings and consequences. In my life 
is involved both sides of this question. 

A short sketch of the Hill family, a step or two back- 
wards, will illustrate one side. I am writing now of my 
father and mother. 

When, in the course of events, I write of myself, show- 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL 15 

ing that I too assumed the responsibility of paternity, in 
communion with a partner chosen even as my father 
chose my near maternal relation, the other side of the 
question will be argued. 

I shall change the mode of Hamlet's address to the 
courtiers ; instead of, " or as you say my mother," I shall 
say " my father ." 

The reader will find that my title to Yankee, as a 
matter of birth, is sufficiently legitimate. 

Frederick Hill, Esq., of Rutland, Vermont, was my 
grandfather on my father's side — a lawyer — -said to be oi 
some distinction in his professional way. 

One son, I believe the eldest of five children, was 
known as Ureli K. Hill. He was a musician — an or- 
ganist at one time of Brattle street Church in Boston ; 
in the walls of which church remains a ball fired in the 
Revolution from the British cannon. I know little oi 
his history, and cannot at this day discover what the 
letter K. in his name is intended to represent. I shall 
explain the cause of my ignorance in this particular 
case, and of other matters. 

My mother was the daughter of Stephen Hull, of 
Hartford, Connecticut. Her name, Nancy. She was 
said to be exceedingly accomplished and beautiful, 
with much musical ability, and the object of great ad- 
miration among the gentlemen in the society with 
which she associated. 

My father, as the family legend has it, fell in love 
with her at their first interview ; and while preparing 
with some threads of silk an Eolian harp, at a window, 
managed by some nonsense about "silken bands of 
love binding him to her for ever," to communicate to 
her the impression she had made on him, and to propose 



16 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



as she was holding part of the skein of silk, to marry 
her. 

An attachment begun here ; both were musical, and 
the result of this harp making was, that shortly after, 
LTreli K. Hill and Nancy Hull were married by Rev 
Mr. Raynor, an Episcopal Clergyman. 

The general result of this love marriage was unhappy. 

A sister and a brother had been added to the family 
before its location in Water street, Boston. The sister 
died ; the brother, known to the musical world as U. C. 
Hill. * While the family residence was in Water street, 
the individual known afterwards as " Yankee Hill," was 
born. While I was yet an infant, a separation took place 
between my father and my mother ; with him went forth 
my brother TTreli ; I remained to become the spoiled 
child and pet of my mother. 

My parents never met in life after that separation 
which occurred when I was an infant in my mother's arms. 

So far as I can learn, it was a mutually arranged act ; 
no other persons but themselves having knowledge of 
the cause, so far as I have been able to discover ; so that 
this union of spontaneous affection, interpreted by the 
Bilken bonds, was not of a very durable character. 

My mother was of that temperament which never 
borrows trouble, to use a homely phrase. She always 
felt rich, even when most in need. I inherited that 
quality from her. 

I regret that I did so. I had nothing to complain of 
while under her direction, but of too much indulgence ; 
then, doubtless, I rejoiced at the loose reins by which I 
was guided. 

I do not know that I shall further introduce mero 
family matters into this period of my life. 



GEOIiGE HANDEL HILL. 17 

The peculiarities of my progenitors are of some value 
to those who study character. I can account for the ori- - 
gin of some of my natural propensities, which induced 
habits difficult of eradicating, in the elements of formation 
transmitted from my parents. 

I too committed matrimony in haste, the original 
idea of which was elicited by an accidental interview 
with the partner of my hopes and joys, my miseries and 
trials. 

I do not intend at this time to discuss that division of 
the question relating to "love at first sight," in which 
my own marriage is a part of the argument. I shall first 
go through my happy school days, tracing the germ of 
that active passion developing itself in barns and cellars, 
kitchens and garrets, which led me at last to smell the 
real lamps, in the legendary words of the green room. 

Although I propose method, I have it not. Polonius' 
words will not apply to me in book-making, if book- 
making be madness — "Though this be madness, yet is 
there method in it." And I ask myself shall I ever 
read in print that which I have engaged to write ? 

My thoughts are ramblers ; to express them, I must 
reverse the pithy quotations of authors, to establish a 
fact so often used. 

Unlike Lady Macbeth's order to her guests to go, 
my thoughts " stay not upon the order of their" coming ; 
but they will come at once, and as they come, in haste 
and without order, so do they leave the mysterious 
chambers of the mind their rendezvous. 



18 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



CHAPTEK II. 

" And then, the whining schoolboy with his satchel, 
And shining morning face, creeping like snail 
Unwillingly to school." 

EARLY SCHOOL DAYS — FIRST APPEARANCE AT SCHOOL AMONG THE CHILDREN 
IN BOSTON — REMOVE TO RAYNHAM, AND THERE APPEAR IN THE DISTRICT 
SCHOOL — ADVENTURE ON MY FIRST APPEARANCE IN THIS CHARACTER — 
PROPOSAL FROM MY RELATIVES TO ATTEND A COURSE OF STUDIES AT 
THE BRISTOL ACADEMY IN TAUNTON — REFLECTIONS ON THE PAST — 
EXPECTATIONS FOR THE FUTURE. 

I am indebted for the first lessons of infant teaching 
to my mother. At that period of my life marked by the 
fifth year, I was transferred to the care of a lady at 
the sonth part of Boston, then known as Madam Ayres, 
according to my recollection a personage of considera- 
ble rotundity, with a sharp nose, grey eyes, and hair 
once red, or golden, at times mingled with a white 
growth sufficiently numerous to entitle the mixture to 
be known as red roan, when applied to the skin of a 
horse, upon his own trunk, or when transferred — as was 
often the case in the days of which I write — to the outer 
surface of a box used for the safekeeping of such articles 
of wardrobe as are needed on journeys, and which was 
a part of a traveller's equipage, known as his trunk, 
more troublesome to keep the run of than his own ideas. 

I had just such a trunk in after life, and it was perpetu 
ally associated in my mind with the roan-colored head 
of the school ma'rm," who is at this time un- 
dergoing the process of mental exhumation. She 
has slept in peace many years — ditto, her hus- 



GEORGE HANDEL HLLL. 19 

band — not in one grave, but side by side, an occurrence 
during their life time not often noted, and as seldom 
enjoyed, if neighbors' tales are true. 

I do not mean to be understood that their connubial 
couch was like that one in which they are taking their 
last sleep, but the husband was a watchman ; his duty 
was performed in the night, and " School mar'm Ayres'' 
avowed to her neighbors that she could not sleep in 
quiet when her man was away, because she didn't 
know what he was about. 

And when he came home after the fatigue of his 
nightly patrol, he could not sleep in quiet,in consequence 
of the interrogatories put to him by his better-half, as 
to the state of the morals of the citizens, and the in- 
fringements of municipal laws, and other doings, of 
which she supposed him to be cognisant, of people 
who choose night rather than day to mingle and 
to jollify. 

The school and the children occupied Mrs. Ayres' 
time pretty well. Hers was a model school of her 
day — not a public school — and the entry into the low 
porch leading to the front door of her three-story house 
as a candidate for the honors of her teaching, was consi- 
dered both by parents and child as an achievement of 
which everybody's child could not boast. In after years 
the subject was invaluable in an estimate of acquire- 
ments which were necessary for a child to possess before 
passing into the public Grammar School at seven years 
of age. 

In brief, for twenty-five cents a week I was to be al- 
lowed to draw wisdom from the fountain at which 
Mar'm Ayres was the presiding goddess in such mea- 
sures as my mental stomach could receive and digest. 



20 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



A B, ab's, and their relative, words of one syllable, 
to some extent I was acquainted with. I was en 
couraged to be agoodboy, and munching a piece of cake, 
I was taken from home to be deposited among the in 
fantry under the drill of Mrs. Captain Ayres. 

I arrived ; was met at the porch by the teacher, or 
" School mar'm," in the vernacular of those days ; she 
had a rod in her hand, bent and flexible from recent use 
upon the pantaloons and subjacent parts of an urchin, 
Bill Eyder by name, whose hair was of the color of hers 
who held the rod. Her frowns changed to smiles as 
she received the new source of anxiety and income in 
the shape of George H. Hill. 

I was welcomed in, my piece of cake laid by till after 
school, my cap hung upon a peg ; I placed at the tail 
end of the fourth class, told to be a good boy and 
to " sit still" for my first lesson. 

I tried to do so ; I couldn't. After a while, Bill Ryder 
was brought out from a dark closet, rubbing his eyes, 
crying, either from the smart of the rod or the recol- 
lection of the whipping ; perhaps both. 

Although the first day at school impressed itself so 
strongly on my mind that I could describe it minutely, 
it will not be so described. 

I remained under the rule of Mrs. Ayres but a short 
time, as the circumstances under which my mother 
again visited Boston, after friendly sojournings in the 
country, had so materially altered, that she found it. 



convenient to return again to her out-of-town friends. 

For some time her residence was in the town of 
Kaynham, in the south-eastern part of Massachusetts ; 
and there or in its vicinity we remained for some years. 

As I have been informed, all my recitations were 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 21 

given with variations of my own, spiced with the ludi- 
crous additions which are usually made by a child re- 
puted smart, whose little errors are made the theme of 
laughter rather than correction. I had memory, but no 
application. My prayers, taught me by my mother, were 
mingled with songs and school lessons, and the spirit of 
travestie seemed to inspire all my efforts at serious men- 
tal work. 

I was bold in the presence of my mother, a veritable 
" little Pickle," but rather shy among strangers. A 
peculiar bashfulness and distrust of my own powers was 
natural to me, and, strange as it may seem to others, I 
am not rid of this drawback upon free action to this day. 

I was at an early age sent for a short time to the 
District School at Raynham. 

That was a great day in my juvenile career. I took 
my place among a lot of rough, country lads, of all sizes 
and ages. Silence reigned. As I ventured to look 
about the school room, horrid visions of discipline filled 
my mind. The stove funnel was suspended by long iron 
wires from the ceiling in the form of hooks. One had 
been left for which there appeared to be no particular 
use. This my imagination metamorphosed into an in- 
strument of torture. I whispered to my neighbor, ask- 
ing for information as to its use. He said, "To hang up 
boys who don't get their lessons." 

The master looked daggers in the direction of the 
place where I sat. 

"Boys that whisper in this school are to be punished," 
said he, in a harsh tone of voice, and with an expression 
of countenance which would give you an idea of an in- 
quisition. I've seen a cast-iron knocker on a prison gate 
not unlike it. 



22 riCTORIAL LIFE OF 



I could not help whispering for the life of me. I had 
often been promised a whipping at home and at Mrs. 
Ayres' school, but I never received it, and why or 
wherefore I could never tell. I would not resist a rising 
feeling of defiance against this law to prevent whisper- 
ing, and the promulgation of the terms of the penalty of 
infraction. 

I kept whispering to my former mate, who every way 
tried to keep me still ; now touching my toe with his 
toe, nudging me with his elbow, keeping one eye on the 
master, the other on me, with sundry expressive grimaces, 
all having for their purpose, the intent to keep me still, 
and save me from the threatened castigation. Presently 
the iron mouth of the master opened : — 

"Who's whispering?" 

The boys all looked different ways, and no one answer- 
ed. 

" Who is whispering ?" again was heard. 

" Speak, or I'll flog you all," said the dominie, with 
the upraised greenhide ; shaking it in token of his inten- 
tions, he repeated his question and threat. I could'nt 
hold in any longer ; in a small, trembling voice, I said, 
" I, sir, but I didn't mean to." " What, the new boy, 
Hill," said the master. " Come up and be flogged." 
This part of the performance, I was unwilling to partici- 
pate in. I kept my seat. " Thompson bring Hill along 
up here," said the master. 

Thompson was a big-boned boy, strong as an ox. 
He advanced and took hold of me by the shoulders ; I 
resisted, with both legs clinging round the bench upon 
which I had got astride, and both arms clasped round 
the form. He tugged, and I held on, hallooing " Mother," 
lustily. Before I could be loosened from my hold, it 



GEORGE IIAXDEL HILL. 23 

took a boy to each arm and leg, with Thompson as gen- 
eral foreman ; and the master himself, who, with a dig- 
nified alacrity, "bossed the job." 

I was carried to the place of punishment, near the 
master's desk, and stood npon the floor filled with min- 
gled emotions of fear, impudence, revenge, and bold- 
ness ; my jacket over my shoulders, my trousers above 
my knees, hair rumpled ; the dust of the schoolroom 
and the tears mixed together running from my eyes to 
my chin, made my whole appearance an object of in- 
terest to the bread and butter munching urchins of 
Itaynham district school on this occasion of my first 
visit among them. 

I was not punished. Being my first offence, I was 
sent back to my seat with a reprimand, and some good 
advice as to my future conduct. 

I observed a smile wrinkle up the face of the district 
master, as I left him. I do not know what induced me 
to behave in this rebellious way. I never had been 
flogged, and the idea made me feel as if I had rather 
die than suffer it. I felt like a rat in a corner, and was 
considered a spunkey boy by my schoolmates ; though 
at that time in reality I had no more moral courage 
in my composition than a caterpillar. My reliance in 
danger was always upon my mother. 

Many years after this, I met Thompson, a stalwart 
teamster in the employ of an Iron Company, near Bos- 
ton. He remembered me and the incident of the school- 
room ; and we enjoyed a hearty laugh together at the 
reminiscence. 

" Look at my finger," says he ; " you see that scar ? 
You bit it, you little cub, you, when I was trying to snake 
you out of your seat." 



24 PICTORIAL LITE OF 



There was a scar plain enough ; I didn't know that I 
made it. He said so, and I dare say he spoke the truth.- 

I attended the District School at intervals ; my pro- 
gress in my studies was slow ; I was much more diligent 
in studying" deviltries, "as sundry persons gaveout. 

I had often proposed to my mother to allow me to go 
to some trade, or do something to support myself; but 
she was never willing to have me out of her control. 
She thought I should be something in the world, but 
had no idea, that in order to make my way anywhere, 1 
must be at work myself. 

Although my relations were aware of my aversion to 
study, they considered me a smart boy ; and my cousin 
Mr. Goldsbury, proposed to receive me as a pupil in the 
Bristol Academy, Taunton, of which institution he was 
the preceptor. 

This proposition did indeed kindle up a little enthusi- 
asm in me. I had looked upon the pupils of the acade- 
my as a higher race of boys. 

There was a latent spark of ambition in me ; I looked 
up to ministers, lawyers, and doctors, with a profound 
regard, yet I had hardly supposed I should ever be one 
of them. 

My mother was pleased with the proposition of Mr. 
Goldsbury ; and as he discoursed upon the value of a 
good education, and referred to individuals who had 
been instructed in Bristol Academy, and there prepared 
to enter the university at Cambridge, I became en- 
thusiastic. 

I listened to the good advice given to me, and survey 
ed with no small degree of satisfaction the pile of books, 
in the pages of which I should find the material to lay 
the foundation of my future greatness. 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 25 

I heard the elder boys recite their lessons in gram- 
mar, history, theology, natural philosophy, and other 
branches of a sound education with great delight. 

But the occasional exercises in declamation were most 
attractive to me. The soliloquies of Eichard the Third 
and Macbeth, with the dialogues from Douglas and other 
plays, I learned by hearing the other boys speak them ; 
and imitated in the delivery out of school the differ- 
ent manners and peculiar tones of voice of the speak- 
ers. 

I was encouraged to study by my friend and instructor, 
Mr. G-oldsbury. I was sometimes talked to smart- 
ly ; but to discipline, my mother was an enemy ; and 
if anybody spoke harshly to her George, tears told how 
much it grieved her. 

There were times, however, when I looked to the 
future, in the hope of emulating the great characters of 
history, in the conjurations my preceptor raised. 

I saw the number of my seat in the halls of congress 
with equal distinctness ; and the faces of the judges and 
clients with whom I was to associate so impressed 
their features on my mind, that if I should now sketch 
their portraits, from memory, and attach them to this 
life, they would be recognized by their friends and asso- 
ciates, the originals being found among the most learn- 
ed and intelligent of the great ones of the day. 

But although my preceptor "bore the glass that 
showed me many more" in the long line, one " thing" 
that has happened, was not foreshadowed. The actual 
" coming" and veritable " events" of my life were not 
" shadowed before." 

I saw in my visions and day dreams no fellow in 
overalls and slouched hat, with a paste bucket and brush 



PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



in one hand, and a bundle of play-bills in the other, 
sticking up against the walls of churches and stables, on 
fences, and in bar rooms, in large letters the name of 

Yankee Hill 
for a few nights. Jedediah Homebred, Si Saco, " et id 
omne genus" where were you then ? 

The wand of my Merlin gave you no local habitation 
or name. The theatre entered not the workings en- 
closed by cerebral convolutions in the brain of my men • 
tor, or the mass under my own calvarium.* 

I never see the bill-sticker going his rounds without a 
sensation ; and I am led to doubt all prophecy, all second 
sight, when I' think of his absence in the representations 
and mental processions prospective of my future mis- 
sion so often produced under the direction of the respec- 
table gentleman who has been mentioned as my guide 
to learning, and pilot through the straits of youthful 
struggles leading to the ocean of life. 

* If the professional reader thiuk strange of the use of scientific terms, it 
may be added that about this time — the time of writing — Mr. Hill had 
commenced the study of anatomy. While fresh upon a subject, he was 
very enthusiastic. 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 27 



CHAPTER III. 

" To teach the young idea how to shoot 

ACADEMIC LIFE — SEEING THE ELEPHANT AND HIS ASSOCIATES IN TAUNTON— 
SYMPTOMS OF DRAMATIC INOCULATION — INTRODUCTION TO EUCLLD — A 
PLAY IN THE PARSONAGE HOUSE — SOME TAUNTON CHARACTERS — A 
HORSE STORY — A LONG CHAPTER, TERMINATING WITH PREPARATIONS FOR 
A CHANGE OF RESIDENCE — AND THE PARTING WORDS TO TAUNTON 
FRIENDS — " GOOD BYE TILL I SEE YOU AGAIN.'' 

I had been six months at Taunton, when Potter, the 
ventriloquist, visited the place to give his entertain- 
ments, which consisted of juggling, song- singing, leger- 
demain, and ventriloquism. 

Potter is now forgotten by a generation who witnessed 
his wonderful displays ; and perhaps unheard of by 
the thousands who remember Pamo Samee, the sword- 
swallower ; Blitz, the magician ; Harrington, the ven- 
triloquist ; and others of lesser name. 

Potter was a colored man, gentlemanly in his address, 
adroit in the management of his show, sagacious in the 
dispositions of his funds, and no bad member of society ; 
although it was thought by many that he had some 
mysterious understanding with the notorious gentle- 
man in black which enabled him " to work such roots," 
as they termed the tricks of his art. 

How I sought in vain to penetrate the secrets of the 
dancing egg, the ring in the pistol, and the pancakes 
that he fried in his hat without fat or fire. 

I tasted one of the pancakes. It was forbidden fruit. 
A song he used to sing, "Pretty Deary," haunted me ; 
I sung it morning, noon, and night. And in part to that 



28 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



song I ow^ perhaps, the cultivation of a power of imi- 
tation natural to me, which talent introduced me at last 
to the theatre, and furnished me with food and lodging 
at a time when the only notes I had in my possession 
were those created in my own vocal bank or apparatus, 
as occasion served, and which, by natural transition, 
were exchanged for coin, in its turn procuring beef, 
ham, and mutton, or bread and cheese, as the state of 
the exchequer warranted, or the exigencies of life de- 
manded. 

An order of the academy forbade the pupils to at- 
tend Potter's show, travelling circuses, or theatrical 
deviltries. 

The itinerant caravan was not included in the ban. 

"We might see the "elephants" and the lions, the 
camels and the tigers ; there was no harm in our wit- 
nessing the daring exploits of Dandy Jack, on his Shet- 
land pony. The stirring up of some dozen noisy, chat- 
tering apes and monkeys was considered an edifying 
display, as it was supposed to illustrate some of the 
teachings of natural history. 

The caravan of my Taunton days was a different 
thing from the magnificent menageries collected by 
such showmen as Rufus Welsh, the Macombers, June, 
' Driesbach, and Van Amburgh. 

No long train of decorated waggons conveying the 
show with caparisoned horses and gilded cars, in which 
bands were playing the gems of Italian opera in a style 
worthy the Academy Royal of Paris, paraded the streets 
in open day, making their grand entree into a town the 
business and talk of the inhabitants. 

These are the brilliant tactics of our modern show- 
men. I have seen both ; but memory lingers, with boy- 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 29 

hood's rapture, upon the first love of sights on Taunton 
green. 

Stealthily, and by night, came the caravan of old into 
the place of exhibition, whether of tent or barn. 

The morning sun saw displayed upon the walls, pic- 
tures of the wonderful brutes within, waiting to be 
shown up in both states of domestic training and natural 
ferocity. 

I see now the signs of the Polar bear, and the African 
lion, the two-headed calf, and Dandy Jack dressed in 
regimentals, standing upon his pony. 

I hear the hurdy-gurdy and the big drum, which, 
between the descriptive parts of the show, together gave 
you an idea of such tunes as are named " Money Musk," 
"Yankee Doodle," and "Hail Columbia." 

To show the nature of the beasts, they were supplied 
with live animals — cats, rats, dogs, rabbits, and the like. 
These they killed and devoured in presence of the au- 
dience, as an extra attraction, and duly noticed in the 
bills of the day. 

I furnished one cat, against whom I had a grudge, for 
the purposes of the show, and obtained admission 
at her expense. Her "monument" was the "tiger's 
maw." 

How differently now is this part of the show con- 
ducted. Royalty witnesses the feeding of the animals ; 
and good beef, or mutton, slaughtered, and dressed in a 
style worthy of its destiny, is served up to them in 
quantities and qualities far in advance of the rations 
upon which subsists many Christian people, who hold 
that brute beasts are something inferior to human 
beings. 

So much for shows of one kind. After this digres- 



30 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



sion, I return to Potter, against the rule, Granger, and I 
visited the Hall in which he performed. 

One of his principal comicalities was a humorous 
dissertation on Noses, in the course of which he gave 
imitations of the wearers of the said noses. This, in 
Yankee phraseology, " took my eye," and I tried hard 
to remember the matter, and to imitate his manner ; 
if I may believe the testimony of his listeners and 
admirers, who witnessed my version of his " Noses," I 
succeeded admirably. One of the farm boys said — as 
he, with staring eyes and gaping mouth swallowed 
the " composition" — " That 'cademy feller, Hill, could 
act it out to a notion !" 

There was fun in me. I had ever a strong desire for 
the style of jokes called practical, and would often plan 
a trick which should excite laughter at its discovery, t 
— though I did not dare to say a funny thing too often 
in the hearing of any of the members of the family 
with whom I was domiciled. 

Many a laugh was stifled, in the internal reservoir of 
cachinatory action, devoted by the animal economy to 
such purposes, in my organization. 

Among my earlier lessons was inculcated the pro- 
priety of an ism, prevalent in puritanical circles, called 
long-faced ism. 

A genuine explosive tribute to humour, indicative 
of a high state of mirth and cheerfulness, in the shape 
of a hearty laugh, was interdicted, as injurious to 
morals, in a superlative degree. 

Human nature, like murder, will out; and though 
my merriment was mostly enjoyed on the sly, at times 
it was beyond control, and I was caught laughing loud, 
and punished accordingly. 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 31 

Oil ! ye teachers of the creed that change the wrinkles 
of laughter in the young face, facile to express the emo- 
tion of the mind, into the strong channels of sadness, as 
depicted in the pictures of him, known as the " knight 
of the rueful countenance," what is the philosophy that 
suggests your unnatural precepts ? 

' "Laugh and grow fat," says the humorist. The 
humorist and the physiologist agree in this. Why 
deprive man of one of the distinctive marks which 
separate him from the brute creation? Man is the 
only animal that laughs. Why prevent children from 
enjoying this great prerogative ? 

I began, at Taunton, to laugh more than ever ; and I 
began to make others laugh. The more I enjoyed the 
luxury myself, the more willing was I to witness the 
enjoyment of it in others. 

My later experience has afforded many examples of 
those whose trade it was to make men laugh, yet them- 
selves were miserable when not exercising in the duties 
of their vocation. 

In some this is nothing but affectation ; in others, a 
sad reality. 

Hackneyed as is the theme, I cannot resist recording 
my evidence of the injustice of criticism, when applied 
to the comedian's efforts to amuse a public ; the 
jest of the author has been committed to memory. 
The motley wear may cover his limbs. In person he 
is upon the stage ; but the overwhelming weight of 
domestic affliction, or the recollection of his pecuniary 
condition may paralyze the efforts of his mind ; unfitting 
him for his task of merry-making, and driving him, 
perhaps, to the tempting " waters of Lethe," so gener- 
ously placed within his reach, by friends, to drown the 



32 PICTORIAL LITE OF 

sorrows forced upon his attention more strongly by the 
compulsory acts of duty, which are to fill others with 

joy- 
Critics, you have ever used me kindly. Think of 

this, when you are about to ply your corrective lash to 

some apparently careless histrion. His shortcomings 

may arise from misfortunes which his pride urges him 

to conceal. 

And you, generous convivial friends of the player, 
who enjoy the rich fund of conversational lore garnered 
up from the experience of his days, and which is his 
capital in trade, do not, when he desponds, tempt him 
into the glow of talk with his enemy, wine. It is his 
weakness ; his heart is sore for the poverty of his 
pocket. The price of the wine you lavish upon him, 
that he may forget his troubles, would relieve them, and 
save him and his family from the ruin that often attends 
the player's fate. 

I eave digressed again. I should confine myself to 
my Taunton days, reserving to a hereafter such matters 
as appertain to such a time. 

Well, I did go to see Potter. I sung his songs, and 
imitated his oddities. For this I was called up to be 
publicly reprimanded, in presence of my companions, 
all of whom sympathised with me in my disgrace. 

I did not feel it a disgrace. I did not complain of 
the punishment, nor should I, had it been more severe. 
I had broken a law of the school — in my opinion an ab- 
surd law. Still, I was bound to obey, or failing, to abide 
the penalty. 

I did think I should escape being found out. I took 
the risk and missed the figure. I would sing the songs 
that betrayed me, and when the dominie put the ques- 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 33 

tion to me, of my guilt or innocence in the premises, I 
" confessed the cape." For this evidence of honesty, he 
praised me, and was pleased to abate half of the 
penalty, in such cases made and provided. I thanked 
him ; and as I was not to receive the balance of 
punishment, I did not inquire into the nature of my 
loss. 

The reprimand did me no harm. It made my fortune 
with the boys ; in the hours of recess behind fences, 
in barns, and other bye-places, groups would as- 
semble to hear Hill give Potter's songs and funni- 
ments. 

Often, in the splendid and crowded theatres of the 
metropolis, when I have been honored by shouts of 
laughter and applause, as I was giving the audience 
my notions of Yankee character, have I thought of 
Taunton school days, and the merry faces of my earlier 
audiences, laughing at the same queer expressions, not 
quite grown into perfect form, which were now recog- 
nized as truthful touches of nature. 

I was restless at Taunton. Study became more and 
more irksome. I shall never forget the day when a 
book was placed before me, with the remark that it 
would be useful in any position of life, to be acquainted 
with its contents. Upon the page opposite to the 
title-page, within an oval frame, was an engraving. 
At the first glance, I took it to be a head of Shak- 
speare. I was mistaken. "Isaac Barrow" was the 
name of the individual represented ; and instead of the 
glorious plays of the Bard of Avon, the title-page 
showed the text to be a series of figures of a very 
different description. I will transcribe it in part from 
memory : 



34 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



EUCLID'S ELEMENTS. 

The whole Fifteen Books Compendiously Demonstrated with 

ARCHIMEDES' THEOREMS OF THE SPHERE AND CYLINDER — INVESTIGATED BY 
THE METHOD OP INDIVISIBLES. 

By Isaac Barrow, D.D., late Master of Trinity College. 

My reader will readily understand the character 
of the book, and can judge of the pleasure its perusal 
would give me, when he knows that I shuddered at 
the solution of any arithmetical problem which in- 
volved fractions of whole numbers, or required any of 
the compound combinations Of the elementary rules 
of arithmetical science. 

I was advised to get familiar with its principles, as 
in time it would be an object of special study in the 
course of my academic career. 

I took Euclid, by Isaac Barrow, to my chamber. I 
looked at its pages — in the beginning, the middle, and 
the end of the book — to me it was incomprehensible. 
I understood Potter's dissertation on ISToses much 
better. If my mind could have been illustrated, the 
picture would have been a strange one. 

This was the effect of my first introduction to Eu- 
clid's Elements, and my last essay in the science he 
taught. Ever since, I have wondered how any person 
could figure out geometrical problems. " Every one to 
their trade." The problem suggested to my mind for 
its own solution, after that night of scientific enquiry, 
was something like the following : 

" If all the boys in the academy study Euclid, and 
I do not, what is the use of my staying any longer in 
Taunton?" 

I had made up my mind, that the more I should 
study, the less I should understand, and communicated 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 35 

to my friend, Mr. Goldsbury, my determination of 
leaving the academy at the end of the term. 

Thus I solved that problem. All my thoughts were 
now engaged in another proposition. How was I to 
get my living in the world ? Expectant college honors 
were fast retreating from my more practical sight. An 
art or trade was to employ my energies. I thought 
of many, but could decide upon none. 

Among the earliest associations of my academic 
days, a lasting friendship was formed with a lad about 
my own age, and in every point of character entirely 
my opposite. 

He was the son of a shipmaster in Boston, whose 
wealth and liberality are well-known. All sought to be 
noticed by him. With the greatest kindness he prof- 
fered his aid in explaining to me my lessons, and nobly 
defended me, when I resented the conduct of the older 
boys, who were inclined, at first, too roughly to 'initiate 
me into the customs of the place. 

I am not writing fiction, but truth ; and as I sketch 
my own sayings and doings in part, there is necessarily 
involved the collateral acts of other persons with these 
persons, and their acts, mine are interwoven. In 
my travels through the United States, and in Europe, T 
have enjoyed the society and friendship of many dis- 
tinguished persons, some of them I may name in this 
work with propriety, others I may not. 

In that class of works of fiction, having for their ob- 
ject the portraying character, and describing real life 
under the more or less transparent veil of romance, 
none is more popular than biography ; and though the 
interest is intended to centre in the individual whose 
life is thus reproduced, and his actions, in the same 



36 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



degree as in the hero of the novel ; still, others of the 
group, which naturally surround the principal feature, 
become objects of our regard, and sometimes prove 
dangerous rivals to the marked hero himself. 

These works of fiction are but transcripts of charac- 
ters; pictures of real life, drawn and colored, ac- 
cording to views taken by the artists who describe 
them. What is considered important in a plan of 
imitative biography, must be equally so in a real 
one. 

I do not think myself qualified to write a book of 
sufficient merit to interest many readers, or to be 
judged by any standard rules of literary criticism ; nor 
do I think I can revive the incidents of my own life, 
in exact train, of regular method, or record them in a 
style attractive from the graphic quality alone. 

I write as occasion serves. I begin a chapter in New 
York or Boston, continue and finish it by the way ; and 
on my arrival in New Orleans. Weeks and months 
may intervene. 

If I follow the mood I am in, I abruptly leave de- 
scription and engage in reflection, and hold converse 
with my supposed reader as familiarly as if I held him 
by the hand. 

Others have written in this way before me. There 
is in it no originality. I aim at none. Phrases from 
works of fiction, in which I have had dealings, may 
escape from my pen. I am ignorant at the time that 
they are not the coinage of my own brain. 

My friend of the academy came to my aid in after 
years ; yet I cannot give his name. But for the purpose 
of my narrative, I shall call him Joseph Granger* He 
may write his life; it has been an eventful one. I 



GEORGE HAKDEL HILL. 37 

6hall feel proud, if he deems it proper, to see my name 
in any way connected with his. 

Before I turn aside the sheet filled with Taunton 
associations, I make this memorandum. 

That, at Taunton I became acquainted with some 
eccentric persons, of whose oddities I made available 
acting capital. 

Gad Brickford was formerly connected with the 
whaling business ; had sailed from Nantucket ; and by 
trying out whale and other fat fish in the Paci- 
fic Ocean, the blubber of which he brought home, 
and sold for sperm oil, he had become rich, left off 
whaling, and occupied his time in telling fish stories, 
long yarns, religious experiences, lives and adventures 
of persons he had fallen in with at sea, and sundry 
other matters naturally belonging to a life of single 
blessedness, in which state Gad Brickford lived, on a 
road much frequented in Taunton. A strange attach- 
ment he had for horses, sailors not usually rating these 
animals overhigh among the objects of their regard; 
I suppose for the traditional forecastle reason that 
these animals in parts were so often represented at sea 
in the beef kid. " Old horse" revives, at times, asso- 
ciations not the most pleasant to sailors. 

The peculiarity in this horse connection which first 
attracted my notice, was witnessing Gad Brickford 
deliberately taking an old French gun, about which he 
used to tell large stories, and shooting an old horse 
which an old man was leading by his house. 

The old man, after recovering from his fright, walked 
up to Gad's door, as he put away his gun, and lit an 



38 PICTORIAL LITE OF 

irregularly rolled mass of tobacco, known in those days 
as a long nine. 

The horse, who was worn out with age and hard 
usage, fell by the shot. 

I have seldom since seen such a specimen of distor- 
tion, disease and misery, as this poor abused animal, 
and I rather guess I have seen bad specimens of horses 
in my time. 

I will not vouch for the exact words which passed 
between Old Ball, the owner of the horse, and Gad 
Brickford, at this interview ; but in substance I have 
preserved it. 

Old Ball was seventy odd years of age, and boasted 
a great deal of " Bunker Hill," " Concord and Lexing- 
ton." Some people disputed his claim to any par- 
ticipation in these glorious affairs. He was considered, 
in Taunton, a hard case. He had been a pedlar. At 
this time he had no particular occupation, but worked 
round at different places, jobbing here and there. He 
lived alone. His house, barn, horse, and self, were all 
in keeping, old, worn-out, going to the dogs fast. He 
was small in stature, and evidently a tough customer, 
'a great cider drinker, with red eyes, thin sandy grey 
hair. His nose, flattened from the kick of a horse, did 
not add much to his personal beauty, or kindness of, 
expression. 

I cannot describe him as he is now presented before 
me. Poor old Ball. I know not if at this moment 
the reality is among the things that live. 

But I will give the interview, and the reader, if I 
have one, must imagine the character, as before him. 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 39 

Old Ball, thin, short, shabby, hat in hand, thus ad- 
dressed Gad : 

OLD BALL. 

Well, 'squire. Good day. I s'pose you know what 
you've done out in the road yonder ? 

Gad Brickford, fat, red, and independent; in cos- 
tume more in the style of comfort than the prevailing 
mode, taking the long nine leisurely from his mouth, 
letting the smoke escape in clouds to the final finish, in 
Ihe shape of a mass of sputum, such as is a terror to 
nice housekeepers with white floors, or smart lieu- 
tenants on ships' decks — " A nasty caper any where, 
that spit tin," as Aunt Nabby Sykes used to say. 
Well, Gad, with this preparation, speaks : 

GAD. 

Yes, Ball — I've killed an old horse. 

BALL. 

Well, 'squire, what are you going to do about it ? 

GAD. 

Pay for it. What was he worth ? 

BALL. 

Well, 'squire, I don't want to take the advan- 
tage on you. Now, he's dead, and you killed him, I 
s'pose. I know you didn't mean to do it. Still, it's all 
the horse I've got. I vaJley'd him at ten dollars. I'll 
leave it out to the selectmen of the town, or to any 
three townspeople, except deacons, to say how much 
you shall pay me. Them deacons would gin in agin 
me, on account of my taking a drop of cider now and 
then. 



40 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



> 



GAD. 

There's five dollars, Ball. Will you take it and give 
me a bill of the horse ? 

BALL. 

"Well, 'squire, to save law, guess I'll take your 
money. 

GAD. 

Agreed. Come in and take your money. I shot the 
old horse to put him out of his misery. 

BALL. 

Well, I snore you, squire. If I'd known that 
afore, I'd ask'd more on you. You did get the advan- 
tage on me ; but I'll stick to my trade. 

Old Gad and Ball enter the house. Reader, I am 
writing now as I should give a stage direction to the 
characters. You must imagine the situation of things 
described, and while they are settling the matter, 
I will add that this shooting of old horses was 
the peculiarity referred to in the commencement of 
Gad Brickford's character. More than once he has 
had to pay a larger sum than five dollars for the 
" whistle" he was so fond of playing on the Taunton 
road. 

I waited to see the end of this trade in horses, and 
after a while, the parties came out of the house, Old 
Ball chinking the silver dollars in his hand, and, 
smacking his lips, which were wet with some of Gad's 
" old orchard," into which he had been a mug or so. 
He took long drinks, and was the original parodist 
upon the Caligulan saying about Eome's neck, after this 
fashion, that "he wish'd his neck was as long as 
Boston Neck ; cider tasted so good going down." 

"It's all right and fair," said Old Ball. " 'Squire, 1 






GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 41 

hear'n tell of your shooting horses. I was taking the 
old critter round to the Pond Hole, to put her out 
of her misery. You did it for me, and I'm five dollars 
ahead on the trade I" 

Old Ball went off in high glee. Gad travelled back 
to his house. 

This was the trick of an old pedlar, cute but roguish. 
All pedlars are not like Old Ball, any more than 
all captains of whalers are like Gad Brickford, whose 
horse-shooting propensities rendered him somewhat 
notorious in the vicinity of Taunton, of which place I 
shall soon take leave for the present, although my 
fingers itch as I hold the pen, to describe an after- 
journey to this scene of my early amateur " song sing- 
ing and dramatic impersonations" — I forbear. In its 
place it shall be given. But, perhaps, looking 
back to the lost hours, unemployed by me in those 
years of opportunity, at no better time, or in any 
better place, can I express my regrets at not having 
profited by the kind teaching of my friend, Mr. Golds- 
bury, who, with the ability, had the will to assist me 
in laying up stores of useful knowledge. 

I have felt how much I lost, when, in idleness, I 
mis-spent the time at Taunton. 

I hope my children will not suffer from a similar 
dereliction of duty which I cannot but blame in the 
conduct of my parent-guardian. My children shall go 
to school. My mother's pleasure was to let me decide 
that question. It has been seen how I decided it. 

I was about thirteen years of age when my mother 
resolved to leave Taunton and its neighborhood, and 
remove to Boston. I was delighted with the move. 
The newspapers had informed me of the shows of Bos- 



42 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 

ton ; and to obtain the sight of a theatre was the greatest 
desire of my heart. 

I had my own idea of this kind of show — partly ob- 
tained by description given to me by those who had 
seen the " Elephant " in this most tempting form of ex- 
hibition, and partly by drawings which I had seen in 
books and upon show-bills. 

With this limited knowledge of the drama and its 
temples, I had been manager and principal actor. 

By the aid of blankets, patch-work quilts, boys and 
girls from my uncle's, the parson's house, I had con- 
structed a theatre, and acted parts of Kichard the Third. 

On one occasion, while my uncle was on a visit to 
another parish, the parsonage house was the scene of 
our dramatic fury. In the midst of Kichard the Third — 
with a large audience assembled in the garret to wit- 
ness Shakspeare's play, according to my style of ren- 
dering it — in stalked my uncle, just as I had exclaimed, 
"Give me another horse — bind up my wounds.'' 

Although a parson, he was a man of sense. His pre- 
sence broke up the meeting ; but a hearty laugh was 
all the reprimand either audience or actors received. 

He knew that I was about to leave Taunton. He 
gave me good advice, but discouraged the cultivation 
of my actor propensities. 

I sought out my companions to bid them good bye. 

At the academy my reputation for scholarship was 
small ; but, as I said good-bye to old and young, had I 
asked for a certificate that George Handel Hill was a 
good-natured, tender-hearted, honest, comical, lazy 
boy, it would have been signed for me by half the peo- 
ple in Taunton and Eaynham, ministers and deacons 
included. 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 43 

For these qualities, my imitations of Potter, the 
colored ventriloquist, and the manner in which I repre- 
sented country bumpkins, and repeated stories of hust- 
ings and quiltings — I was remembered ; and I have no 
doubt that the sorrow of many of them, as I took leave, 
was as heartfelt as it was kindly expressed. And so, 
farewell Taunton ; as the honest Yorshireman says in 
the comedy, " Good-bye till I see you agin." 



44 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



CHAPTEK IV. 

" The Play— the Play's the thing."— 
" A play-house is the Devil's own hot-bed." — I 

I DEPART FOR BOSTON — THE LEFT-HANDED STAGE-DRIVER — FIRST SIGHT 
OF THE INTERIOR OF A THEATRE — THE MUSICIAN — LESSONS IN MUSIC — 
A SHORT CHAPTER. 

I remained in charge of my preceptor, Mr. Goldsbury, 
while my mother proceeded to Boston, with the inten- 
tion of making that city her future home. Her arrange- 
ments being completed, I was sent for, and the day 
following the reception of her letter, I was prepared for 
my journey. 

The Boston of that day was not the Boston of this ; 
and, although my birth-place, few had been the years 
I had passed among its inhabitants ; my early asso- 
ciations were not among the most pleasant of my life ; 
yet there was something in after years that endeared 
me to my native spot. I have always cherished the 
highest regard for the friends I have met there ; and I 
am happy to repeat what I have heard from the lips 
of intelligent American and foreign gentlemen — that 
its standard of morality, intelligence, and enterprise, is 
second to no other city in the American Union. 

When the stage drove up to the door, I began to feel, 
for the first time, that I was leaving home ; still, I was 
going to my mother, and to the centre of business, and 
starting point for ambitious youth. 

Tli at day will never be forgotten. Uncles, aunts, 
cousins and companions, were there to bid me good- 
bye. I laughed and I cried. 



GEORGE HAXDEL HILL. 



The driver of the stage lifted up the little blue painted 
box which contained my wardrobe and a supply of 
chestnuts, apples, and other love-offerings from my 
cousins, and I followed him to the seat. An apprentice 
lad had painted upon the top of this box, in red letters, 
" G. H. H ;" and yellow dots upon the edges were to 
represent the heads of brass nails, then in fashion upon 
more pretending trunks than mine. I am particular in 
the description, for the trunk had other associations, 
and was a travelling companion years afterward, un-. 
der different auspices. 

I was crying when we started, but the rattle of the 
coach- wheels, and the crack of the whip, from the skil- 
ful flinging of the lash by the left-handed driver, with 
the occasional cheering " Don't cry, little man," from 
the aforesaid left-handed driver's smiling countenance 
and lips, changed the current of my emotions, and dry 
eyes and smiles took the place of tears and sobs. 

How soothing falls the expression of good nature 
upon the sad? With the recollection of my journey 
from Taunton to Boston, and the kindness of this coach- 
man present to my mind, I never see a left-handed 
stage-driver but I long to shake him by the whip hand, 
and to bestow a blessing upon the memory of my early 
acquaintance. 

In this connection I may mention another left-handed 
stage-driver, well known along th e route leading to the 
classic halls of Harvard. 

I know not whether these " Jehus" were relations ; 
but I can add, that I have also experienced the 
courtesy and civility of this veteran of the Cambridge 
line ; and it appears to me to be one of the merits of 



46 TICTORIAL LIFE OF 



these left-handed gentlemen of the stages, to be always 
civil and kind-hearted. 

Past and present students of Harvard College, em- 
bracing grandfathers and grandsons, no doubt, can add 
their testimony in praise of my Cambridge friend. 

To them I leave his eulogy ; and from them, if he 
needs it, may he find consolation and support in his 
retirement in old age.* 

After # various stoppages and adventures, we arrived 
6afely in Boston, and I was put down at the house occu- 
pied by my mother in Washington- street, near Essex, 
in the neighborhood of the celebrated liberty tree. 

I found a sort of relation w T ith my mother who had 
always professed a great regard for me, and, some how 
or other, had been called uncle. As I afterward dis- 
covered, my future prospects had been the subject 
of discussion. 

I shall not, even at this day, write his name, out of 
regard to the feelings of others in the family. 

You might decide his character by one of his axioms 
— " It was nonsense to tax people for the edication of 
children ; let them that wanted their children edicated, 
pay for it." " He had no children, and he didn't want 
to pay for other people's larnin'," was another of his 
logical flourishes, when the subject was brought up for 
discussion by those persons who wished to fulfil their 
duty, and deal justly by the rising generation, in pre- 
paring them for the conflict of life. 



* Allusion is made here to the veteran, Morse, who drove a coach from 
Cambridge to Boston for a period of over forty years. He is now dead, 
but will be remembered by many who have had occasion io travel on 
this route. Mr. Hill was an especial favorite of this veteran driver. 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 47 

After the usual salutation, my uncle inquired of nie 
what I was going to do for a living ? 

My mother, who still fancied I should be a great min- 
ister, a lawyer, or a doctor, answered that she should 
see as soon as my education was completed. 

" Why," said he, " George don't need no more edica- 
tion. He is a smart boy, and can get along without it, 
as I did at his age. When he's rich, and can afford it, 
he can larn if he's a mind to. He had better go to a 
trade, and larn in his master's time. He can read and 
write, and cipher, and that 'ill do. I never liked the 
idea of his going to the 'cademy. You know, Nancy, 
'cademys cost money ; and, s'pose the teachin' don't cost 
much, it's bad for poor folks' children to go to 'em ; it 
gives 'em notions, on other pints, they can't afford to 
have. George 'ill be a good boy without any more 
larnin', and do well. Won't you, George ?" 

I said, " Yes, uncle," for I had an idea that there 
were but a few really great men in the State of Massa- 
chusetts, and, in consideration of all I heard of this 
uncle's importance and pomposity, I felt sure he was 
one of the great men, if not the greatest. My mother 
listened to him as an oracle of wisdom, and was often 
influenced by his advice. 

" You see, George," he continued, " I hear you are a 
smartish boy, and some folks say you'll do for a min- 
ister, like your uncle Hull. Well, so you may ; but 
that's a good ways off, and ministers don't often get rich 
by preachin'. Some say ' Edicate him for a lawyer.' 
Well, all these kind of edications is expensive ; and if 
any accident should happen to you before you get 
wholly larn'd for the business, that is, s'pose you should 
die— we're all likely to die — then all the money laid out 



48 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



in 'caclemy expenses, and college larnin', would be lost. 
Best way is to work along — don't yon think so ? Kow, 
George, 6'pose yon go into a tavern, tend table first, and 
go aronnd ; perhaps you'll have to work a leetle in the 
stable, among the horses — see the jockeys — hear 'em 
talk. Cnte fellows — generally have their eye-teeth cut. 
You can go to evening school. I know a master will 
take yon cheap. I'll take your wages, and pay the 
master out of the store. That will keep trade going, 
and be doing good all round. Don't you see it right, 
George ?" 

I said " Yes," but I did not see any such thing. After 
my uncle's departure I retired, full of projects, and 
dreaming of my uncle's plans for me, with all sorts of 
variations. 

I was occupied for some time in the store assisting 
my mother. In dull times, however, I had much leisure, 
and often traversed the streets of Boston, intent upon 
one wish — that of seeing the inside of a theatre ; and, as 
I strolled through the city, I began a practical educa- 
tion, the lessons of which were of a character that had a 
fixity about them not to be forgotten in after days. 

On one occasion, I was standing near a celebrated 
milliner's in Washington street, when a lady said to me, 
" Little boy, what is your name ?" I disliked the salu- 
tation, " little boy ;" however, I replied " Hill." " Well, 
Hill," said the lady, "do you know the way to the 
Boston theatre ?" I answered, " Yes." " Then," said 
she, " will you carry that box to the stage door of the 
theatre for Mrs. Powell ?" 

My eyes and mouth opened wide to say " yes." The 
theatre that I had so often wished to see on the inside, 
when gazing on the outside, seemed now open to my 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 49 

view. I soon reached the stage door with my band-box, 
and inquired for Mrs. Powell. The porter took the box, 
and all I saw was the dark and narrow passage lead- 
ing to the stage. I remember, to this day, the smell 
of oil, powder, rosin, and other villanous odors which 
mingle at the entrances of theatres, and was in full 
ascendance at the door of the Boston theatre, in Theatre 
Alley. 

Disappointed, I was slowly retracing my steps when 
I encountered a German musician, Mr. Yon Hagen. 
With a view to reconcile myself to my disappointment, 
I indulged in a habit, often my resource in similar 
cases, of whistling, for which accomplishment I had 
considerable talent. My musical exercise attracted the 
notice of Mynheer Yon Hagen, a member of the Boston 
theatre orchestra ; at that time he had some reputation 
as a violinist and composer of music. " Littel boy," 
said Yon Hagen, " you vissle vere good ; perhaps one of 
dese day you shall be a musician." 

His praises elated me. I was not satisfied until I 
found out who he was, and when I did find him to be a 
musician, I called upon him. Inquiring into my history, 
I discovered that he had formerly known my father. 

This worthy German appeared anxious to give me 
lessons in music, and actually did begin to instruct me 
in this science ; but, alas ! he had a failing which inter- 
fered with his prosperity, and my progress in the art of 
sweet sounds. 

It is unnecessary to speak further of Yon Hagen's 
weakness. Its character may be gathered, with a moral 
reflection for those who have indulged in the folly, from 
the source so often applied in these words : — 



50 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



" What a fool is a man 
To put an enemy in his mouth 
To steal away his brains!" 

An old German flute served my purpose to practice 
some of the lessons of Yon Ilagen, and to annoy the 
neighbors who had not sagacity enough to discover 
music in my variations of the musical scale. Thus, from 
whistling, I slid into flute-playing ; and at one time I 
encouraged the idea that I should become a famous 
musician. 

In later life, the whistling mania occasionally beset 
me ; and, while in Europe, a song, the " Whistling 
Boy," was arranged for me, and, when sung, honored 
with encores and applause. 

"With this description of my early musical develop- 
ment, I take leave of the subject, with the simple 
reflection, that my parents, being both musicians, may 
account for my whistling predilections. 

Nearly a year I continued in Boston, cultivating a 
truant disposition, and, in the mean time, anxious only 
for an opportunity to display my itinerant propensities. 

I could not remain long in this condition, and finally 
decided to leave my home and my mother. 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 51 



CHAPTER Y. 

" One man in his time plays many parts." 

EARLY JOURNEYINGS — VISIT TO NEW YORK GO INTO BUSINESS -PEEP 

BEHIND THE CURTAIN OP THE PARK THEATRE — ACQUAINTANCE "WITH 
THE PERFORMERS — I FIRST WITNESS A PLAY — I MEET MY BROTHER — 
LEARN COMIC SONGS — CHOICE OF STEPS TO DRAMATIC FAME — I SELECT 
THE CHARACTER OF A PERUVIAN, WHO HAD NOT MUCH TO DO AND 
NOTHING TO SAY, IN PIZARRO — I APPEAR BEFORE A NEW YORK 

AUDIENCE FOR THE FIRST TIME 1 GIVE AN ENTERTAINMENT IN 

BROOKLYN — AM ENGAGED BY A COUNTRY MANAGER, AND COMMENCE 
ACQUAINTANCE WITH THE VICISSITUDES OF A STROLLER'S LIFE — LOVE 
AND ROMANCE. 

I left Boston, and arrived safely in New York, occu- 
pying the time of my first day in the metropolis with 
reading the show-bills. The posters of that day were 
insignificant things compared to the blanket bills now 
announcing the great attractions offered at the theatres 
and museums, circuses and concert-rooms, of the dif- 
ferent state capitols, into which all modern amuse- 
ments, even to Italian opera, have been introduced as 
things of course. 

As I read the names of Cooper, Barnes, and other 
stage heroes of the time, my dramatic fire began to 
burn. 

Necessity required that I should smother the rising 
flame ; and, in the vicinity of Chatham street,. a placard 
in a jeweller's window — " Boy wanted" — attracted my 
notice. I entered, and inquired for the master of the 
shop. 



52 pictokial ld 



When he ascertained that 1 was from Boston, he re- 
ceived me on trial, and I immediately began the duties 
of my office, the general nature of which may be 
summed up as follows : — 

Open the shop ; hang out the signs ; lay out the rows 
of watches, rings and jewelry ; run errands ; dunning 
customers who had forgotten to pay their bills ; carrying 
parcels to patrons' houses, 6zc. 

My reward was, plenty to eat — a good bed to sleep 
and dream on ; and many a bright dream cheered my la- 
bors, after a day of toil, suggested by the realities seen 
through the day, in the shape of the actors and actresses 
who frequented our store to purchase the glittering 
decorations so necessary to their costumes, when, be- 
fore the lamps of the theatre, they strutted the kings, 
queens, lords, ladies, princes, or dandies of the hour. 

Then, again, I had leisure to read books of comic 
songs, I studied them, — I sung them. The Hunters 
of Kentucky w T as an especial favorite with me. I visited 
the theatre. Who can describe, within a league of the 
truth, the excitement of a first night at the play ? Many 
have attempted it ; yet no description, that has come to 
my knowledge, from the pen of author, approaches the 
reality of my first visit to the Park Theatre. 

I wish I had kept the play-bill of that night. Such 
a list of actors and actresses — all from some theatre 
royal, London. American talent then was hardly 
known. Plays and players were all imported. A 
few of the home-bred filled up the gaps; but the 
features of the play were from the other side of the 
"big pond/' 

I shall not describe Yankee Hill, when the green 



\ 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 53 

curtain fell, for the last time, on the doings of that first 
night; nor shall I play the critic, using the players 
according to their deserts. 

To me all was great — grand ; and, as I walked slowly 
home, thinking of the duties next day in the store, it 
occurred to me that I should like to try a hand at play- 
ing ; and the thoughts of brown paper, silver spoons, 
gold watches, legs of mutton, and all the pomp and 
circumstances of glorious trade, and domestic usefulness, 
vanished before the more glittering display of Dutch 
metal, glass diamonds, and embroidered satins, which 
were present ever after to my longing mind. 

I know not if acting is like some diseases to which 
the flesh is heir, to be taken in the natural way, and by 
inoculation. 

My friendly reader will have learned that I was pre- 
disposed to the contagion of the dramatic virus, before 
I ventured into that infected district — the Park theatre. 

I had been inoculated ; the effects of the operation 
were fast developing ; and my employer, without calling 
to his aid much of his natural stock of sagacity, had 
detected the symptoms of an incurable case. 

I had obtained admission to the theatre behind the 
scenes ; and the mysteries of that part of the temple of 
Thespis, behind the green curtain, were, in some de- 
gree, unfolded to my view. 

At last, another step to proud ambition was offered 
for my choice. 

To aid the " Grease," as the lamp-lighter was termed 
in stage vocabulary, in his dispensation of oil and wick ; 
or to make one of the crowd of Roman citizens or 
soldiers, in the tragedies acted nightly for the purpose 



54: PICTORIAL LIFE OF 

of introducing to an American audience a popular 
London star ! 

A lamp-lighter's assistant, or supernumerary, was the 
choice. I chose the latter. Pizarro was the play in 
which I first saw an audience from the stage. My size 
prevented the captain of the "supers" from sending me on 
as one of Pizarro's soldiers, else I might have boasted 
among my fellows, " I, too, have murdered a Peruvian." 
So, instead, I represented one of the frightened follow- 
ers of the monarch of Peru, and had the pleasure to 
be hailed by the hero of the night as one of his " brave 
associates and partners of his toil." 

And, subsequently, when the poor Indians, frightened 
at the Spanish muskets, ran for their lives, I had also 
the pleasure to be addressed in the impressive words, 
" Hold, recreants cowards." 

Now, the jeweller's shop became a prison. I was 
spouting and song-singing all the time. My brother 
supers said the stuff was in me, — I believed them, and 
trade and I for a time bid adieu to each other. In other 
w T ords, I left the jeweller's shop, as I had left my 
mother's house ; but, unlike my predecessor, ISTorval, 
the son of Douglas, " I took no chosen servant to con- 
duct my steps." 

A few days after this, I was in Hudson-street, and, 
on the corner of Duane, I saw a tall young man leave a 
companion. At the same time I heard a voice opposite, 
and the words, " Halloo, Hill," attracted my attention. 
The tall young man looked at me, as I did at him. 

Says I, " Is your name Hill P 

" It is," said he. 

" That is my name, too, George IT. Hill." 



GEORGE HAXDEL HILL. 55 

" Is it possible ! Where were you from ?" 

" Boston," said I. 

" Then you must be my brother. You look like the 
family ; and when I left Boston with my father, I had a 
brother, George, but eleven months old. 

After comparing the names of aunts and cousins, for 
the first time in my life, I received a brother's embrace. 
We walked on, speaking of family matters and past 
times, when we were met by our grandfather, Frederic 
Hill, with intelligence from my father. The reader will, 
doubtless, understand, that I had never then enjoyed 
the satisfaction of seeing him. I mean, my father. 

I was then fifteen years of age, and resolved, in imi- 
tation of the great Mathews, of whom I had heard and 
read, to give an entertainment on my own hook.. When 
duly prepared, I did so in the city of Brooklyn. 

I had now fairly entered into the business which, for 
so long a period, had engrossed my entire thoughts. 

A manager, present during the performance, offered 
me an engagement to join his company of travelling 
actors, then ready to start for the western part of JSTew 
York. 

He was of the opinion of Kichard the Third, and 
practised upon the theory embodied in the quotation, 
" a little flattery sometimes does well." 

He said 1 was the best comic singer he ever heard. 
Unsophisticated, honest, and ambitious, I believed him, 
and, in a pecuniary point of view, he had me at his 
own price. 

The vicissitudes of a stroller's life fell to my share — 
playing in halls and barns, sometimes to numerous 
audiences, composed of every class of persons, as a fair 



56 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



representation of the different grades of society con- 
gregate in the large towns. At others, spare indeed 
were the numbers assembled ; and, though our advent 
into the village had been noticed with a grand flourish 
and display of bills, our departure was silently accom- 
plished in the darkness, and our whereabouts studiously 
concealed from inquiring friends, who expected remu- 
neration for lamps and hall, with other incidental aids 
furnished to our manager. He, expecting from the 
pockets of their friends and neighbors to fill his own 
purse, was doomed to disappointment ; and they — the 
landlords — were compelled to take their share of this 
unsaleable commodity in payment. I will do my first 
manager the justice to record, that often, from the pro- 
ceeds of a well-filled hall, would he send to some de- 
serted village the amount due to the blustering landlord 
of a less favored community. 

Nearly a year passed in this kind of life, picking up 
jokes and acquaintances, and beginning to look a little 
more like a man, than when first I read my name on 
the show-bill : 

" Comic Song by Mr. Hill." 

I discovered, early in my career, that girls would 
peep from behind doors and curtains to get a look at 
the show folks. 

Many of them only allowed a sly glance at the " chaps 
that made so much fun." 

Although naturally shy when in company of ladies, 
it was the wish of my heart to deserve their regard ; 
and I was ready at all times to contribute to their plea- 
sure and happiness, my mite of comicality. 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 



After having sung " Pretty Deary," or " Barney leave 
the Girls alone,"— favorites at that time— I used to feel 
sentimental twitches of the heart, as their merry, spark- 
ling eyes met mine, with the hearty laugh and applause 
which followed these private performances. 

On one occasion, a young lady was standing in a 
room ; as I entered, and met the gaze of her dark eyes, 
I found the power of speech had left me. I could 
not, by any means, address her with the most common 
phrases of civility. 

Affection had often coquetted with me. I had felt 
tender at parting with divers Susans, Charlottes, Marias 
and Harriets, but this encounter had, in an instant, 
driven all these buxom country lasses from the store- 
house which I had began to fill with the material, 
thought by the young and enthusiastic to be only 
parted with when existence itself is to end. 

Even at the hazard of spoiling the story of my wooing, 
by anticipating its results, let me confess that I was in 
love, suddenly, irrecoverably, with a stranger maiden, 
who is now the wife of my hopes, and firm friend in 
adversity and prosperity, and to whom I am much 
indebted for the success and happiness that I enjoy. 

Before this meets your eye, kind reader, we may both 
" sleep the sleep that knows no waking." 

Courtships are, in the main, alike. Falling in 
love at first sight was the error of my parents and 
has been the destructive fall of many a couple of 
human beings, and will be through all time. 

Yet the two individuals, in whose welfare the writer 
feels the most profound interest, fell, at this time, from 
the mutual contagion which involved them, into the dis- 



58 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



temper, as it has been called by those whose experience 
in its pathology is entitled to regard, and for which 
neither time, nor the medicine of varied fortune has pro- 
posed a cure. 

At length my silence was broken, and we separated 
with the interchange of civility and friendly greeting. 

It will serve no purpose to be particular in the pre- 
liminary proceedings which resulted in mutual confi- 
dence and engagement of marriage — on the condition 
that I should leave off acting. This was a terrible 
sacrifice ; yet I submitted, in order to obtain the hand 
of my chosen one.* Her friends objected, and forbade 
me, on any account, to visit the house. We, however, 
continued to correspond, and our plans were sufficiently 
sane to baffle all the " lynx-eyed vigilance" of family 
connexions, busy neighbors, and rival suitors, until our 
letters were intercepted. This caused a strict watch 
over my intended, and strong anathemas against my- 
self. As soon as I heard the news, I shut up shop in 
Rochester, and turned my face towards the town oi 

L , full of love, indignation, and determination. 

What happened there shall be the subject of another 
chapter, when I can find the leisure, and my inclination 
will serve to transcribe it. 

* It will be understood that Mr. Hill had retired from the profession 
of a stage player, and was, at this time, doing business on his own 
account in Rochester. 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 59 



CHAPTEK VI. 

" And then the lover." 
" A horse— a horse— my kingdom for a horse ! " 

MY ELOPEMENT AND MARRIAGE. 

Some one has said that a life of any person who has 
been actively engaged in the business of the world for 
forty years, written or unwritten, must contain inci- 
dents instructive, in a greater or less degree, to such 
persons as may have the knowledge of them. 

This saying will apply with more force to the lives 
of great captains on land or at sea — politicians, lawyers, 
physicians, pirates, house-breakers, and others, who 
have excelled in their peculiar vocations — legal or ille- 
gal — and whose eminence at court, or on the gallows, 
have entitled them to biographies, intended to show the 
steps upon which they ascended the platform of glory, 
and gained the extreme point of their notoriety. 

I did not specify actors in the list ; but the reader 
will of course consider them included in the general 
collection represented by the significant word, " others." 

There is a propriety in leaving them from the list of 
any assemblage of professions and trades, the members 
of which have furnished their representative man to 
the gallows, as a finish to their lives. 

It is a fact, that no actor has ever been executed for 
crime. This truth is an argument of some weight in 
favor of the professional stage-player. I cannot say but 



60 



PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



some of them may have deserved the penalty ; but I do 
say, that no crime has been proved against an actor to 
render him a subject for execution upon the scaffold. 

I am about to trace the incidents immediately con- 
nected with one of the most important events of my 
life — my marriage. 

In some respects, it was brought about not unlike a 
preceding family affair in which I was interested. At 
the time of my engaging in the preliminaries, I was ig- 
norant of the similarity. I allude to a subject noticed 
in an early chapter — the marriage of my father and my 
mother. Love at first sight was the stimulant of both ; 
but the arranging of their compact was not disturbed by 
any opposing cannonades from parental batteries — the 
prying manoeuvres of aunts and cousins — piques of 
old maids, or disappointed bachelors. The particulars 
of the ceremony are lost to the world ; the repositories 
of this important detail were guests, in the form of 
friends and relatives, whose memories are damaged by 
the confusion of things forgotten, things present, and 
things to come. 

But the accidents by flood and field, attendant upon 
my own entree into married life, are fresh in my me- 
mory, as to-day's salutation of an esteemed friend ; and, 
by a strange coincidence, this is the very anniversary 
of my wedding day. 

There are many scenes of actual adventure, as well as 
the imagined situation of imaginary heroes and hero- 
ines, which have become fixed things by the power of 
the pencil in the hands of the great masters, ancient 
and modern. 

I shall not descend to catalogue making. Betrothals, 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 61 

marriages, coronations, elopements, have been selected 
as subjects worthy to live forever on the canvass, which 
has received the oil and earths, the salts of metals, 
mixed by the hand of genius extempore, as the mind 
directed the work. 

If I had the skill of an artist, I would illustrate my 
journey to the clergyman, with the doings by the way, 
and my journey from his place of business, in pano- 
ramic style. 

This may not be, from my failure, at an earlier day, 
to become instructed in the elements of the art ol 
painting. 

" Words, words, words," are my reliance. My pa- 
lette must be supplied with such colors as the dictionary 
furnishes ; my brush — an erratic moving pen — set in 
motion by the inrpulsive thoughts of the self-historian, 
who is to portray scenes in which he is the hero ; and, 
in order to realize with all the force of recognition most 
necessary to " point the moral or adorn the tale," the 
reader must cultivate intimate acquaintance with ima- 
ginative speculation, as he attends the progress of 
my wedding jaunt. 

To those who have seen me in the Green Mountain 
Boy, I need not give a description of the bridegroom 
of that bridal. 

I wore no striped frock; but, with rather a juvenile 
nice, and, in costume, somewhat in advance of my 
years, I bristled about, making preparations for the 
great business of marriage, with a determination little 
less than that of xTapoleon when crossing the Alps on a 
very different mission. 

To avoid suspicion, we arranged, at our last inter- 



62 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



view, that my intended should walk beyond the limits 
of the town in which she resided, when I was to over- 
take her. 

I provided myself with a horse and wagon, formerly 
the property of a physician, and old enough to have 
been in the " French wars" for several years. He had 
a naggish sort of way when starting; this took my 
fancy. I was not then a much better judge of horses 
than some other things I could name. 

I drove on ; the horse turned up at every door-yard, 
in spite of all my requests for him to proceed, accom- 
panied with the usual pull of the rein, and an encour- 
aging cluck, and " get up." 

He heeded them not, determined to have his own 
way ; and, after a stop, longer or shorter, according to 
his usual custom, he would start off again, slackening 
his rate of speed after each new stop. 

He began to collect his ideas, and, as I thought, was 
considering whether he had not gone in that direction 
as far as w r as desirable for him to go. 

He came to a sudden stand-still in the middle of the 
road. It required all my skill in driving to prevent his 
turning round to go home — evidently his intention, 
when he refused to move forward. As an additional 
incentive to the "get up, sir," I touched him with the 
whip. Then there was a terrible moving of legs, with 
galvanic attempts at rearing, which caused the wagon 
nearly to upset as the animal crossed the road and re- 
crossed it, responding with a grunt expressive of great 
dissatisfaction, at the hints given him in. this way to 
go on. After an expression, between a neigh and a 
grunt, savoring of a revengeful epithet given in horse 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 



vernacular, lie jogged on awhile. Soon again he 
relapsed into the exercise of his stand-still propensities. 

I again ventured the expressive use of the whip, which 
caused the more rapid movement of all four of his legs, 
ach one apparently intent on taking different direc- 
tions. 

It began to be dark, and I had not yet overtaken my 
bride-elect. Before me was a steep hill — a clergyman 
awaiting the arrival of the two, to be made one ; behind 

me, the friends and family of , who might discover 

her absence, and, hearing of my departure with horse 
and wagon, follow us. An interruption to our proposed 
clandestine happiness was not among the improbabi- 
lities of the night. 

While engaged in thoughts of this kind, and wonder- 
ing what time we should meet, the interesting animal 
began to attend to his own business instead of mine ; 
and, at the foot of a hill, came to a dead halt. 

"Go on, John," said I, with a coaxing cluck and 
whistle. A shake of the tail, with evident preparations 
on his part for backing down the small portion of the 
hill he had ascended, was the response. 

I began to lose my patience, and get a " leetle riled." 
This quality of my temper, likely, became apparent to 
the horse, as he received a smart lash across his back. 

War was declared now, and no mistake. He acknow- 
ledged the blow, by kicking up, letting his heels fly in 
the front end of the wagon. This done, he backed 
vigorously across the road, until he had marked a circle 
from his frequent turning round. I told him to go on, 
not remembering, at the same time, that I was pulling 
him back. 



64: PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



He seemed perfectly to agree with me in my tactics, 
and backed with a good will. 

I jumped from the wagon, reins in hand, and made 
an effort to seize him by the bits. My first attempt was 
a total failure. The old horse looked down at me, threw 
up his nose, and commenced backing. I let go the 
reins, holding on at the extreme bite, or driving part. 
The old fellow had discovered, somehow, my entire ig- 
norance of jockeyship, and looked upon all my efforts 
with supreme contempt. 

I made up my mind at that time, that a horse was an 
intelligent animal. 

Bridegrooms, conducting run-away matches, what 
do you think about the state of my mind at this time ? 
The result of my operations and manoeuvres was a 
change of front, the horse now heading homeward. 

A farm-house lad, having observed the trial of skill 
between us — that is, I and the horse — with an impudent 
sort of sympathy, said : 

"I say, let him back-up hill." 

" That's a good idea," said I, and I tried to accom- 
plish it. 

The horse was not to be done in that way ; and the 
position of horse and wagon was now at right angles 
with and across the road. 

" I know that horse — it's old Saunders'. Tie your 
handkerchief over his eyes, Mister — then he'll go," said 
the farm-boy. 

Well, I thought I'd try that. I had a white one in 
my pocket — the very one I intended to hold in my hand 
during the interesting ceremony now being delayed by 
this contrary horse. As I put the handkerchief near 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL 65 

his head, it seemed to suggest to him the necessity of 
another backward move, which threw the wagon fast 
in a ditch by the side of the road. 

The farm-boy left me, snickering at my style of 
breaking colts, said, " he guessed old Saunders' horse, if 
ever he did die, would die a natural death, of old age." 

Almost in despair, I just then caught a glimpse of my 
beloved, and hastened to her side. A few words served 
to explain the cause of my delay, and we walked to the 
minister's, followed by the farm-boy ; as he afterwards 
said, he had " twigg'd my motions" for some time. 

"Without further delay, the two runaways were made 
man and wife. 

We left the minister's, and tripped happily along ; 
I feeling as rich as a king, though the entire amount of 
my cash was only five shillings and eightpence. Many 
a day since that journey have I seen the time when I 
had a pocket-book full of bank notes, and a fund to 
draw upon of no small amount, when I would have 
given them all to pass such another hour as that one, 
while riding with my new bride in the dusk of the 

evening — full of fear that any person, knowing Miss , 

should discover her riding home with a husband whom 
she dare not yet own as such — nor dare he claim the 
privilege of owning as a wife. 

Old Saunders' horse went home well enough. Mrs. 
Hill, as usual, appeared in the family circle ; and, when 
she bid her friends " good night," if any person had in- 
formed them that she was other than , that person 

would have created an excitement about the premises 
of a character I am totally unable to define. 

Thus began my honeymoon. How unlike the begin- 



66 PICTORIAL LITE OF 



ings of some married lives, about to live together in 
this new estate, that I had witnessed ? 

From the merry assembled friends, in the best 
room of the homesteud, how often have I seen the 
bridegroom take his wife away to a snug cottage, fur- 
nished from the savings of his labor during the days of 
their courtship — the blessings of their parents following 
them? Thus they began the world happily and in 
order. 

My parents, if not so in reality, were dead to me, 
The relations of the young creature, joining her fate to 
mine, under cover of darkness, away from her home, 
were opposed to our marriage ; and, even when the law 
had placed in my hands the right to control her actions, 
we dared not disclose the secret of our compact, made 
to last so long as we shall live. 

But, after all, it is not the form of marriage that con- 
trols the happiness of the married. The gayest ones 
have sometimes sad endings ; while those, solemnized 
in a hovel, have been productive of long unions, with 
peace and happiness to the end. 

The sleep of death is the same to the beggar and the 
king — the one lies in state, honored in his sepulchre ; 
the other, cast forth from the city gate, finds hardly 
earth enough to hide his bones, when nature's work is 
completed on his frame. 

I am led, I see, by reference into serious reflection, 
while describing a marriage — my own, too — in which I 
have thought there were some amusing circumstances 
involved. I start off into serious considerings of death ! 
How true, indeed, is the sa} 7 ing of the poet : — 

"Extremes are ever neighbors?" 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 67 

My duties now call me away, and I finish this chap- 
ter of my life with an expression of thanks, after years 
of trial, to the Ruler of all destinies, for giving me, on 
the day of my marriage, a companion so well adapted 
to my condition of life ; who has, in all seasons, been a 
helpmate to me, and is one of the many instances in the 
world to falsify the theory, set fortn in that old pro- 
verb — 

"Marry in haste to repent at leisure." 



68 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



CHAPTER VII. 

" So, this begins our honeymoon." 
" Coming events cast their shadows before 1 " 

I AM A MARRIED MAN — I ENTER INTO SPECULATIONS WHICH ARE NOT PRO- 
FITABLE IN THE WAY OF TRADE — THE DRAMATIC VIRUS IS AT WORK — 
I ENGAGE AT THE ALBANY THEATRE — MY THEATRICAL LIFE FALRLY 
BEGUN. 

It would be a work of love for me to write an essav 
on the peculiarities of Yankee character; and I did 
think I would tell some of the stories of my life, in the 
form used in my performances, which had for their in- 
tent the different phases of Yankee life. 

Such a work, from the pen of a master, has been pub- 
lished, which has had some weight in changing my 
views upon this subject. 

Another plan suggested itself — to embrace the inci- 
dents and scenes from some of the dramatic pieces in 
the body of the work, with such explanations as would 
render the dialogue intelligible. 

I think I may adopt this plan, and, perhaps, with a 
history of the production of the pieces which have been 
considered amusing trifles by the public, though pre- 
senting no claims for themselves, or the authors, as 
any addition to American dramatic literature, in its 
written or printed form. 

The stage vehicles, for the introduction of Yankee 
portraiture, used by me as mere tools and machinery, 
in the business of acting, have been prepared \)j writers 






69 GEOitGE HAXDEL HILL. 

from whose pens the modern stage has received valuable 
additions. Mine were constructed for a purpose, and 
well adapted to the end proposed; and I can assure 
those who feel interested in such matters, that the task 
is much more difficult to write a succesful drama, its 
plot and incidents involving the events of every-day life, 
than to compose a tragedy, having for its basis pro- 
minent events of a national character, reflecting the 
deeds of warriors, or statesmen, whose names are clas- 
sic, and whose fame is catholic. 

It will be understood that I refer to acting plays, 
with a promiscuous audience forjudges and critics — the 
test being, the effect produced as a whole ; and where 
action, which must ever be unwritten, takes the place 
of its more pretending and elaborate rival, aiming at 
descriptive accuracy of sentiment and event. 

The one, if tried by closet review, as well as thea- 
trical, impulsive power, will add no other laurel to the 
creative genius, who, upon shadows' slight foundation, 
raises a useful structure, appreciated at the moment by 
the mass, but forgotten in an hour, having nothing 
to do with the future ; — a bouquet, fresh and beautiful, 
when first its forming parts are taken from the garden, 
or the conservatory, pleasant to all eyes, soon to be re- 
placed by others for the public amusement, with little 
care on the part of those who have glanced at its beauty 
or entertained its fragrance, or for those who have cul- 
tivated the individual specimens, and tied them together 
in simple, but effective contrast. 

A larger respect for tragedies, and their authors, 
follow the successful advent of these dramatic aris- 
tocrats. 



70 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



I have latterly had but little to do with tragedy. I 
have seen farcical tragedies, and tragical farces ; and I 
shall leave this heroic department of the stage to 
Mr. Forrest, or some other American tragedian, when 
he or they shall open the pages of their professional 
lives for the inspection of the audiences, before whom 
they have illustrated their lines of business, to their 
own satisfaction, at least. 

As their material in trade differs from mine, so will 
their published lives, if they write them. 

They may fill pages with quotations from Shakspeare, 
and the choice of modern bards, to demonstrate the pe- 
culiar sections in the fabric of their reputation which was 
raised upon the backs of Knowles, Bulwer, and other 
dramatists, whose creations they have given, in parts 
delivered, with " good emphasis, and good discretion." 

My pages must be filled with Yankee stories, or slips 
of scenes put together by "Woodworth, Stone, Jones, 
Bernard and Finn. 

Young tragedians will give the style of the actor, as 
they declaim from the pages of the favorite play. 

Young Yankee aspirants will copy my wig, the length 
of my coat, the shortness of my trousers, and no ques- 
tions asked as to where the fun came from, when the 
old jokes are turned up from that grave of old farces, 
the prompter's library, by the spade of some new play- 
maker, who will write another name for Solomon Swap, 
and Christen, the " green mountain boy," after his own 
fancy. "Well, help yourselves, gentlemen, when you get 
the chance ; and so, good-bye to authors for the present. 

I am now going to give the outline of the commence- 
ment of my career on the stage of a regular theatre. 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 71 

We want some kind of stones, mileposts, or guide- 
boards, to mark the different stages of my dramatic 
journeyings. 

I cannot call the pillars I may erect, " milestones," as 
they will be placed at intervals of longer or shorter dis- 
tance on the road. 

I have dotted on the map of my wanderings the 
places in which, during a series of years, I exercised my 
talents as a comic singer and table performer. 

I soon discovered that my talent for trade was not of 
a superior kind. Urged by a desire to accumulate a 
competency, I ventured a little into speculation, begin- 
ing on borrowed capital. I found I could purchase' 
articles readily enough, but selling, except at less than 
the cost, I found difficult. My night visions were not 
of well-filled storehouses, large bank accounts, and pro- 
fitable change in the market. Comic songs seemed to 
me more likely to fill my pockets than dabbling in books 
or any other kind of trade. 

I was released from the promise I gave, before my 
marriage, not to think of a theatre as a place to earn 
my bread. Just at this time I received an offer from 
Messrs. Duffy and Forrest, of the Albany theatre. 

I speedily joined them, determined to deserve success, 
if I could not achieve it. 

The parts allotted to me were not very important. 
One of the features of the nightly bill was this line : — 

" Mr. Hill will- sing a comic song." 

I did sing a comic song, and after I had listened to 
the applause of the audience at its conclusion, I felt the 



72 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 

day would come that should bring me honors greater 
than this. 

I had now begun the race, and I look back with 
pride on this part of my life. Young, newly married, 
with a small salary, and the prospect of something else 
small, soon to be added, I was still full of hope and am- 
bition. I struggled manfully, cheered by the encou- 
raging smiles of my wife, against the influences which 
retard, and too often subdue, the young aspirant for re- 
putation, as he enters the avenue to dramatic fame. 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 73 



CHAPTER YIH. 

" Change makes change." 
" A plague on both your houses !" 
"A song — a song!" 

LEAVE ALBANY — YISIT CHARLESTON — IDEAS OF YANKEE CHARACTER 

MY SONG 1 VISIT PHILADELPHIA — FIRST APPEARANCE IN THAT CITY 

IN A PROMINENT YANKEE CHARACTER. 

Fkom the time I left the Albany theatre until my 
appearance in Philadelphia, under the management of 
Duffy and Forrest, the incidents of my life, however 
full of interest to me, cannot be so to the reader or the 
auditor, who has seen and heard me in the sphere of pro- 
fessional duty only. 

In the desert through which my path lay, there were 
green spots ; and that sun, which so often sustains the 
traveller in adversity, cheered my path, and gave me 
strength and courage to combat with and surmount the 
difficulties of life. 

I studied diligently to fill up such gaps in my edu- 
cation as were caused by early indolence and aversion to 
books, and as were made apparent, as my intercourse with 
men became enlarged, and my acts and conversation 
were objects of scrutiny. 

I found, among my associates of the theatre, -men of 
superior practical education — well versed in the history 



74 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



of nations, ancient and modern — some of them, of both 
sexes, with refined tastes, scholars and students ; still, the 
nature of the art they profess requiring them to be fa- 
miliar with the men and things of all time. 

My journey ings had placed me in favorable position* 
for the study of rustic life ; and, from boyhood, I noticed 
the dialect of farm boys, and the peculiarities of cha- 
racter since identified with stage Yankees. 

When I had really acted in the theatre, I noticed an 
occasional look or position, borrowed from some Yankee 
original, and introduced into a comic part of another 
kind, would tell with the audience. The roar of ap- 
plause which once followed my giving the phrase " git 
eout," though not strictly in keeping with the part I 
was acting, convinced me that a whole Yankee charac- 
ter — a, thing then scarcely known to the stage — would 
be efTective and profitable to whoever should undertake 
it. Of course, I refer to my conception of the Yankee 
character, and to its presentation in a new form, with 
more distinctive peculiarities than any yet given. 

American plays had been written and produced, in 
which country boys were introduced — somewhat after 
the models of the Yorkshiremen, so happily conceived 
and delineated by the authors of English comedy ; and 
these copies of nature, as illustrated by well-known ac- 
tors, were received with marked favor by American 
audiences. 

I had played two or three Yorkshiremen ; but Yankee 
stories and comic songs supported my claim to the title of 
comedian. In the winter of 1831 and '32, 1 was engaged 
in Charleston with Faulkner's company. It will be re- 
membered that these years were marked by the great 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 75 

event of nullification in South. Carolina. These measures 
gave to politicians notoriety of different kinds. Nullifi- 
cation gave me a notoriety of a less national character, 
which convinced me that I knew little of politics, or 
the doctrines of expediency, and caused me to make a 
resolution to " take no heed of the politician's study." 

I became popular, and made aquaintances among per- 
sons whose political views differed on the question of 
nullification. 

The friends of the movement, and their opponents, 
gave a supper, and I received a card of invitation to 
each. I knew I should be expected to contribute to 
the enjoyment of the evening, in the shape of song or 
story ; and I was anxious to retain the good will of both 
parties, more particularly as I was soon to take a bene- 
fit. I counted largely on the patronage of nullifiers, as 
well as the antis, when this should come . off — I mean 
my benefit. 

I wrote, that is, I vamped up from an old song, the 
" Bundle of Kails," a new original song for the occa- 
sion ; and this I sung, with great applause, at the table 
of the friends of nullification. 

The local allusions to " State Eights," and their de- 
fenders, were received with shouts. 

The same song, again altered and tinkered with the 
convenient hammer of poetical licence, I sang at the 
table of the other party. General Jackson and his pro- 
clamation were so used, with such other allusions and 
strokes of merriment, as to elicit thunders of applause 
from my friends, who believed not in the doctrine so 
warmly advocated in my first edition of the " original," 
adapted, and improved " Bundle of Nails." 



76 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 

My song ended, the feast over, I thought my fortune 
made. The papers of the following day, in giving the 
proceedings at the festive boards of the two parties, 
published the song by Mr. Hill, entire. 

Dogberry says : 

li Comparisons are odorous.'' 

When my songs were compared, it was plain that I 
had wished to please both parties. My object, in so 
doing, might be guessed. I made a blunder, and no be- 
nefit. I dare say the same thing has been done by 
others, and, perhaps, with results no more beneficial 
than were the results of my speculation to me. I 
have no copy of this double song, and I am glad that I 
have not preserved it ; and, although I wish no harm to 
the paper publishers, or to my associates of that day, I 
hope there is not a paper in existence containing this 
evidence of my sagacity and poetical powers combined. 
"Whenever any person talks to me of politics, I say, with 
Mercutio, 

" Plague o 1 both your bouses ! " 

I yield not the right for myself to think and vote. 
That I am in a profession, which has for its purpose the 
amusement of the million, is no reason why I should 
lose the rights and privileges of citizenship. Whigs and 
democrats will laugh at us if we are comedians, and cry 
with us if we are tragedians. In times of excitement, 
if the actor becomes too much a noisy politician, he will 
make as many enemies as friends ; and, if he tries to 
play Jack on both sides, he loses something of his dig- 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL . 77 

nity of character ; and, perhaps, the stronger party at 
the hustings may be the weaker at the theatre. 

I have profited by that first attempt in politics, and 
I hope my brother comedians and tragedians will 
think of this matter, if they have not done so, and, 
when invited to sing songs at political dinners, either 
sing their sentiments, or such poems as both parties can 
listen to with respect. 

The advice given may be unnecessary. Actors are 
usually sensible and educated persons, and anxious to 
preserve the good opinion of their patrons. Although 
I feel constrained to admit, that theatres are not, at this 
time, supplied with the excellence and varied talent of 
past years, the rolls of the drama still contain, how- 
ever, many names of performers, who bear estimable 
characters for sobriety, industry, and social qualities of 
a high order. 

In September, 1832, 1 engaged with Jones, Duffy and 
Forrest, at the Arch street theatre, Philadelphia. Here 
I played some minor parts, but had no opportunity of 
making a decided hit, except in a story, when the man- 
ager asked me to play a Yankee character. This op- 
portunity I had long desired ; and Jonathan Ploughboy, 
in the " Forrest Rose," was the character selected for 
my new essay. 

My brother performers can appreciate my feelings 
when the night came on which I was to act this part, 
often played by other comedians, and which gave to 
Mr. A. Simpson much reputation, on its original re- 
presentatin at the Park theatre. 

Stage fright, to some actors, is a terrible affair ; and, 
suffering from its influence, many a performer of talent 



78 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 

has failed, when called upon to appear before a strange 
audience, or, even in a new part, in the presence of 
his old friends. 

To those initiated, it is no wonder that so many new 
plays fail, on the first representation, from this cause — 
stage fright embarrassing the actions of the performers 
to a degree that destroys the effect of scenes, and, 
often, the whole play. 

I felt now that the fortunes of my life were at stake ; 
for, if I succeeded, no more bad parts and small salaries 
would be my lot — but, if I failed, the opportunity might 
not again occur, and I should be obliged to drudge on 
in the humble duties of the stage, which, however ne- 
cessary, bring with them none of the luxuries of life, 
nor that reputation, so valuable to the theatrical adven- 
turer. 

The auditor has no idea of the performer's feelings on 
similar occasions. " It is but playing a part, after all," 
he would say ; " how can so little an affair produce 
such great effects ?" 

He who thus thinks and speaks, knows not the dif- 
ference, to an aspiring comedian or tragedian, between 
approbation and disapprobation. 

The hour of suspense, to a candidate for the highest 
office in the Union, is not more full of anxiety, than 
that which the actor endures between a failure and a 
hit, in an important part, if he is physically constituted, 
as are some whose duties are upon the mimic world 
— the stage — the hope of their lives. 

When the moment arrived for the commencement of 
the Forrest Rose, I took my last peep through the hole 
in the green curtain. A full house had assembled, and 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 79 

I could see the familiar faces of friends lit up with 
smiles. Here and there I noted the well-known thea- 
trical critic writers, whose articles were always looked 
after, in the morning journals, with interest, and some 
times with dread. » 

William Jones, one of the managers, was a good 
friend of mine, and appeared anxious to advance my 
interest. He encouraged me on this occasion, and stood 
by me when the prompter rang the signal bell. The 
stage was immediately cleared. My friend Jones, at 
my elbow, said, " Be a man, Hill ;" and I appeared be- 
fore the audience. My reception was flattering ; and, 
as I bowed to the applause, I glanced at my friend, still 
standing by the wing. He applauded too. I was my- 
self; my fright had vanished, and the result was tri- 
umphant. Caesar's saying would apply to my case as 
Jonathan Plonghboy : 

"I came — I saw — I conquered!" 

And I doubt much, after the performance was over, so 
high did I rate my own value, if I could have been 
purchased at a cheaper price than Csesar could have 
been, after he sent his famous missive to Home, from 
which the above quotation is made. 

The times of which I write were starring times, and 
I began to turn my thoughts and attention towards the 
subject of starring too. In the Fall of 1833, Mr. Pelby, 
manager of a Boston theatre, proposed to me an en- 
gagement of a few nights. I had a great inducement to 
accept this proposition, as I was anxious to appear in 
Boston, the Yankee character being better understood 
in the^STew England states than at the South ; and, as 1 



80 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



had formed my style upon the originals I had met in 
boyhood, I hoped for an endorsement from Boston 
judges of the correctness of my delineations. 

Notwithstanding, it is important to the general suc- 
cess of an actor that he has the stamp of New York 
approbation before he ventures elsewhere; still it is 
considered, by all artists of celebrity, native or foreign, 
important, as a test of their ability, to pass the ordeal 
of Boston criticism with favor, and I was not without 
this desire. 

During this engagement, I met with a dramatist who 
placed at my disposal the comedy of the " Green 
Mountain Boy ;" and I feel much pleasure in recording 
its production and success as a truthful representation of 
Yankee character, found in E~ew England among the 
agricultural districts. 

Mr. Pelby, the manager, also manifested an interest 
in my welfare. At that time it was no easy matter for 
an American actor to appear at the Park theatre. Mr. 
Pelby, in his first efforts, had experienced and sur- 
mounted the difficulty. He gave me good advice, and 
a letter of introduction to Mr. Simpson. I had a new 
part, " Jedediah Homebred ;" and the acknowledged 
representative of Yankee character at the Park, (Mr. 
Hackett,) was absent in Europe. 

With these chances, I resolved to try my fortunes at 
the Park theatre. 



GEORGE HAXDEL HILL. 81 



CHAPTEK IX. 

" There is a tide in the affairs of men, 
Which, taken at the turn, leads on to fortune." 

" Be not too tame neither." 

I VISIT NEW YORK TO SECURE AN OPENING AT THE PARK' THEATRE — 
INTERVIEW WITH MR. E. SIMPSON — SCENE IN THE BOX-OFFICE — I PLAY 
AT THE PARK — I PLAY IN DIFFERENT CITIES, AND ENTERTAIN THE 
IDEA OF VISITLNG EUROPE. 

Those who know the character of the Park theatre 
management, can easily understand my feelings upon 
the subject of a first interview. 

My friends and counsellors were divided in their 
opinions about the way in which I should approach the 
autocrat of E"ew York theatricals, asking him for an 
opening at the Park. 

I had my own views in relation to the matter ; but a 
young actor, just leaving the humble duties of stock 
business at ten dollars per week, and entering by a 
lucky pathway to the road of notoriety, if he wishes to 
proceed surely into the field of principal parts, he must, 
in some measure, follow the advice of those more ex- 
perienced in theatrical life. 

I decided upon my course, which was partly sug- 
gested to me by my friends, and the loose style of 
manager Pelby's letter to Mr. Simpson. These two 
managers were now on good terms ; but when Mr. 
Pelby was simply a young and ambitious American 
actor, desirous of measuring professional strength with 



82 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



the Hollas and Hamlets from Drury Lane, he found the 
way to the stage of the Park theatre as difficult of ac- 
cess as many of my countrymen, himself included, 
found the way to the principal theatres in London. 

Mr. Pelby had, since his struggle for the opportunity 
" to fret and strut his hour" on the Park stage, be- 
come a manager of a principal theatre ; and the en- 
mities of other days were buried by the spade of mutual 
interest, no monument existing of former differences. 

My letter, therefore, was an item of some weight in 
my favor. I prepared myself for the occasion, and 
started from my lodgings to encounter the business 
scrutiny of " Edmund Simpson, Esquire, manager, Park 
theatre, ]N"ew York," as was duly written on the en- 
velope of my letter by my friend, William Pelby, 
Esquire. 

I arrived at the Park theatre ticket offi ce, and some 
of the courage I had collected began to give way before 
I enquired of Mr. Blake, the treasurer, if Mr. Simpson 
was in the theatre. 

He looked at me, then at the bank notes, then at me 
again — saying to himself, " two hundred, sixty-eight," 
and, taking his pen, wrote the amount upon a book near 
him, before he replied to me that " he didn't know." 

I was rather annoyed at the cool manner of Mr. Trea- 
surer Blake, but I said nothing. 

" Do you want to see him for anything particular ?" 
said Blake, with a look that seemed to say, " of course 
you don't." 

I replied, " I did, on business of importance to Mr. 
Simpson as well as my self." 1 felt better after this 
saying, and looked dignified and independent enough. 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 83 

" Ah ! well I believe lie is on the stage ; I'll call 
him," said Mr. Blake, politely. 

" Will yon send this to him, sir, and I will wait his 
reply ?" said I to Blake, as I handed him Mr. Pelby's 
letter. 

He invited me into the office, dispatched the letter 
by a boy, and was soon bnsy with his acconnts again. 

As I sat there, looking over the bills, and contem- 
plating the records that told of Macready, J. Wallack, 
Miss Kelly, Cooper, Kean, and others, and their con- 
nection with this theatre, I felt that I was gaining an 
inch for every name I read. Then I thought of my own 
efforts co-temporaneons with theirs, when, a short time 
before, we appeared together — 1 as a representative of 
one of the humble class of supernumerary soldiers or 
citizens ; while they, or some one of them, as the hero, 
Richard, Coriolanus, or Eolla ; both toiling for fame 
and money — they for two hundred and fifty dollars per- 
night, I for two York shillings — the division of fame 
being in just proportion to the division of money. 

Now I was "putting in" for my chance to obtain a 
large dividend of both commodities. 

While thus engaged in thought, Edmund Simpson, 
Esquire, enters, letter in hand. 

Kind reader, some of you have seen me in a similar 
condition upon the stage. Imagine how Mr. Simpson 
looked, if ever you knew him, when about to address a 
stranger, whose position in the theatrical firmament, 
compared with his own, might be the same as the sun's 
with some far off star, which, as yet, had not been hon- 
ored with a name, in consequence of its obscurity and 
distance. Although an honest man, a good citizen, and, 



84 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 

sometimes, showing that he had a kind feeling for a dis- 
tressed brother, his style of address was not the most 
winning, particularly in business matters. 

I imagine you see the parties, and witness the follow- 
ing scene. It was my fate, perhaps, that was pending. 
You may not, dear reader, feel as interested in its re- 
production as I did when first produced. 

E. SIMPSON, ESQ. 

" Good morning, sir. Mr. Blake, did you send for 
me ?" Simpson reads Pelby's letter. 

YANKEE HILL. 

" Good morning, sir," to Mr. Simpson, who does not 
notice Yankee Hill, but talks with Blake. 

BLAKE. 

" Yes sir, only in relation to that letter, sir." 

E. SIMPSON, ESQ. 

" Has the canvas come, and the colors ?" 

BLAKE 

" Yes, sir ; one hundred, fifty-six, fifty-seven, fifty- 
eight — right." (Blake counting money.) 

YANKEE HILL. 

(Aside.) — " Just as I thought ; my turn directly. 'No 
matter, let me get in — I'll fix 'em." (Hill whistles to 
keep down mi oath.) 

E. SIMPSON, ESQ. 

" Ah, yes ; beg your pardon, sir. Mr. Hill, sir ?" 

YANKEE HTLL. 

" Yes, sir ; Mr. Hill. I want to play a few nights in 
the Park theatre — have you an opening for me ?" 

E. SIMPSON, ESQ. 

" Mr. Pelby says you are clever. Did well in 
Boston?" 






GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 85 

YANKEE HILL. 

" Yes, sir, and I want a chance somewhere in New 
York. I'd rather play in the Park, if you have the 
nights ; if not, I must play somewhere else." (Hill 
pretends he don't care which theatre he plays in.) 

E. SIMPSON, ESQ. 

" Can you play < Solomon Swop,' Mr. Hill ?" 

YANKEE fflLL. 

" I should rather show you than tell you." 

E. SIMPSON, ESQ. 

" This is the Park theatre, Mr. Hill, and what would 
suit the audience where you have played, might not 
suit my patrons. You are a new man. I'll give you 
an opening ; if you succeed, I'll give you five nights on 
the usual terms." 

YANKEE HILL. 

" Yery well, sir. When shall I open?" 

E. SLMPSON, ESQ. 

" I will see, and let you know. Call round this even- 
ing. Good morning, sir." {Exit E. Simpson.) 

YANKEE HILL. 

" Good morning, sir." {Exit Yankee Hill from the 
office of the Park theatre, down the steps, through the 
streets, hack to his lodgings, feeling that the thing was 
all right now.) 

The individual, Yankee Hill, in a short time wrote 
three letters to different friends informing them that he 
was soon to appear at the Park theatre. This was glory 
enough for one day. 

A night was appointed. I played, made a hit, and 
was at once enrolled as one of the attractions in the 
programme of Park seasons for some years. 



BO GEORGE HANDEL HILL 

I soon began to experience the attention and civility, 
usually attendant upon success, in any public station of 
life. 

I was fond of society, and it gave me great pleasure 
to receive my friends, and entertain them in a liberal 
and hospitable manner. The value of money was never 
very strongly impressed on my calculations. 

To these qualities are to be attributed the errors of my 
life. Prosperity gathers many warm and devoted friends 
— adversity scatters them, leaving the individual to strug- 
gle with his broken fortunes, and toil with redoubled 
energy, to regain the money he has foolishly lavished 
upon the butterflies of sunshine. 

I do not record my success in a spirit of egotism ; 
much of this success is a matter of luck. A man's re- 
putation, if a good one, is a basis of operations of great 
importance ; but the public is a fickle customer in 
amusements as well as dress, and the fashion changes 
often. Sometimes an indifferent performer will receive 
the applause and rewards which, but a short time be- 
fore, were only bestowed upon true talent and merit. 

About this time I began to cherish the idea of trying 
my fortunes on the other side of the Atlantic. Before I 
embarked in this foreign adventure, I proposed to visit 
New England, without the embarassment of theatrical 
engagements, that I might go to Taunton and Raynham, 
in search of my relatives and friends of my youth. I 
wished also to pick up incidents for a new drama. 

In looking over loose memoranda, I discover my un- 
professional trip down-east, and, with slight alterations, 
I shall introduce it into this biographical sketch. I 
have seen happy days since that journey, and unhappy 



84 



PICTOSIAL LIFE OF 



ones. I ask myself: am I the George H. Hill that, in 
the summer of 1835, revisited the home of my child- 
hood with a heart free, spirits buoyant, and nothing in 
the prospective of the future but happiness and joy. 



NOTE BY THE COMPILER. 

A reference to the loose memoranda to which Mr. Hill refers, gives 
abundant evidence of his characteristics. Had he lived to complete this 
life, he, no doubt, would have given the loose memoranda a form. As it 
is, another hand must of these parts make a whole ; and it is thought 
proper to introduce the compilation here, as, at this period of his life, the 
excursion alluded to was made, and the notes taken of the incidents. 



88 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



CHAPTER X. 

' Send out more horses— skirr the country round ! n 

A TRIP TO TAUNTON, MASSACHUSETTS, WITH A DRAMATIST, FOR THE PUR- 
POSE OP HUNTING UP OLD ACQUAINTANCES, AND GETTING HINTS FOR A 
NEW CHARACTER — THE SAGE OF QUTNCT — THE POST FAMILY, AS ILLUS- 
TRATED BY MAJOR ENOCH WHEELER— THE INSANE COMPANION. 

In the year 1835, Mr. Hill decided to visit Taunton 
for the purpose of meeting with such of his school-day 
companions as might still be living, and residents of 
that famous town, and also to pick up incidents and 
anecdote for the construction of a new drama, as an at- 
traction for the future. 

He was accompanied on this trip by a friend from 
Boston. The better to address themselves to such indi- 
viduals as, from their peculiarities, might fill the pages 
of their note-books, they started in a private carriage 
from their lodgings early in the morning, intending to 
reach Taunton by sun-down. 

Mr. Hill did not, at this time, claim to be eminent 
as a " whip." He was fond of riding in a stylish vehicle, 
and was also desirous that the horses attached to the 
vehicle should be showy and fast, and perfectly compe- 
tent to perform their business on the road without 
trouble or danger. 

Hill proposed to stop at a well-known hotel in Rox- 
bury, for no other reason than to show off the "turn out" 
which, by the way, he talked of buying, as he did every 
thing that pleased him. 



GEOKGE HANDEL HILL. 89 

Before he had turned into the road leading to the 
hotel, a sudden blast, from the horn of a fisherman near 
by, started the horse into a run, and almost drew Hill 
from his seat over the front of the carriage. The horses 
were checked — the visit to the hotel deferred until their 
return from Taunton. 

They went on smoothly and without incident until 
the town of Quincy had been reached. Stopping at a 
farm-house, having an air of comfort, neatness and ca- 
pacity without being ostentatious in any of its charac- 
teristics, Hill proposed to begin the real adventures of 
the day by asking some questions of an elderly looking 
gentleman who was standing at the door, apparently 
bidding adieu to some person with whom he had been 
conversing. 

The old gentleman replied to Mr. Hill's salutation of 
" Good day, sir," in an easy and dignified manner, 
which convinced Hill that he had come in contact with 
a superior character. He was not one, however, easily 
embarrassed, and, pointing to a number of derricks, and 
other mechanical contrivances, used in quarrying the 
granite for which Quincy is so famous, asked what they 
were. 

The old gentleman said : " In that locality abounded 
one of the staples of New England, granite, and those 
parts of machines, scattered around the lodge, were used 
in quarrying." 

" You have lived long in this neighborhood ?" said 
Hill. 

" Yes, I have," was the reply ; " I was born near by." 

"Then you must be some acquainted here," said 
Hill. 



90 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



" Yes, I am acquainted some, with every part of the 
Uuited States." 

" Well, sir, I do not wish to detain you. I was about 
to ask you a few questions, as I am in search of Yankee 
character ; but, perhaps, your time's valuable. I will 
call on some other occasion." 

" Yery well, sir, I shall be happy to give you any in- 
formation in my power, whenever you feel disposed to 
ask it. Favor me, sir, with your address." 

" Hill, sir, known as Yankee Hill, comedian." 

" Ah, yes, I have heard of you, and, without mean- 
ing any offence, I should think you could act like a 
Yankee." 

" Hill said " He hoped he had given no offence, and 
begged to know whom he had the honor of addressing ?" 

" Young, sir," said the old gentleman ; " in my life I 
have been called many names, but, for a period ot 
nearly four score years, one name has always been con- 
sidered my legitimate property — the name my parents 
gave me, John Quincy Adams, at your service." 

Hill replied, that he felt honored in taking so dis- 
tinguished a man by the hand, made some apologies for 
his intrusion, and concluded by saying, "Good morn- 
ing, sir." 

" Good morning, sir," said the ex-President. 

Hill made a short cut to the carriage, and said he 
felt as if he should like to fall through his trousers. He 
often told this story of his meeting with the ex-Pre- 
sident, and colored it with a great many variations, but 
the facts of the interview were as described. Some time 
after, Mr Adams and the comedian met at Washington. 

The Sage of Quincy remembered well the incident. 



GEORGE . HANDEL HILL. 91 

He was an admirer of Mr. Hill, as were many of the 
eminent men at Washington. Hill's companion on the 
trip to Taunton had seen Mr. Adams iu Boston, bnt did 
not so inform him until after he had given an acconnt 
of the interview. 

Hill promised in some way to retaliate. Nothing 
worthy of especial note occurred on the road. In the 
afternoon, at an early hour, the two friends arrived at 
Taunton, put up their horses at the hotel, and prepared 
to perambnlate the town in search of old acquaintance. 

A small cottage, with a workshop adjoining, and a 
sign with the name of " Poet" upon it, attracted Hill's 
attention. He entered the shop, and inquired for Mr. 
Post. Mr. Post, the shoemaker, was absent at town 
meeting. Hill enquired of a boy, if he knew any body 
by the name of Sarah Babit % 

The boy said " he didn't, but he 'guessed mother did : 
if she didn't, guess father did. Father know'd most all 
the girls in town." 

This boy squinted, with one eye looking upwards 
while the other looked downwards. 

Hill asked the boy how his eye came so ? 

" Born so, just like father's and all the rest on us." 

" Where is your mother ?" said Hill. 

" Well, guess I don't know ; think she's gone to town 
meeting, too." 

Hill called again, and saw Mrs. Post. Afterwards he 
gave the following history of his farm-love, in the 
character of Major Enoch Wheeler, a bustling, inquisi- 
tive Yankee, ready for anything. 

WHEELER. 

" Well, I swow nothin' seems to be goin' ahead here, 



92 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 

the country is so darn'd small, 'tain't bigger than a sack 
full of airth well scattered; and there's that Thames 
river they brag so much about, I snore if one of our 
Nantucket whalers should undertake to come up there, 
she'd get jammed in. Hallo, Mister, how de dew ?" t 
me. markam. — (An English exquisite.) 
" Don't be impertinent, sir." (Aside) — " Confound 
the fellow." 

WHEELER. 

" Got a smart chance of ships here. 'Say, you, there's 
a gal in there been shinin' up to me." 

MARKAM. 

"In there?" 

WHEELER. 

" Yes ; she run out, and called me her dear Ed'ard ; 
she must have taken me for a coffee bag in plague 
time. I seemed to stagger her so much she ran right 
in agin." 

MARKAM. 

" You may now add to your other talents, that you 
excel in making mischief, and have, by your intrusion, 
consigned to misery two — no, one of the loveliest oi 
her sex. 

WHEELER. 

" Well, I thought you didn't mean two, cause if you 
did, you couldn't be one on 'em. Oh, if I have over- 
turned you, it's no more than right I should jump down 
and help you up. I'll go in, and send her out. 'Say, 
you, is the gal rich ?" 

MARKAM. 

"Tolerably." 

WHEELER. 

" And pretty ?" 







MAJOR ENOCH WHEELER, 

In "New Notions." 

I once invented a Flute that you could blow as many tunes into as you'd a mind 
to ; stop up the holes, and let 'em come out when you wanted 'em." 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 93 

MARK AM. 

" Superlatively." 

WHEELER. 

"Look here, Mister, I'll jine you in that specu- 
lation." 

MARKAM. 

"What, sir!' 

WHEELER. 

" You may take the gal, and I'll take the money." 

MARKAM. 

" I don't understand you." 

WHEELER. 

" If you want to hitch teams, and the old folks won't 
give their consent, I'll help you to emigrate. I alto- 
gether approve of these runaway matches, 'cause they 
are on the go-a-head principle." 

MARRAM. 

" Well, that's very kind, but I have got to get the 
dear creature's consent," 

WHEELER. 

"Don't you be skeered. I'll manage that. We 
Yankees never dew fail when we really undertake any 
thing." 

MARKAM. 

" It must be owned, my dear fellow, that America is 
the land of enterprise." 

WHEELER. 

" I rather guess it is ! There is no lie down and tuck 
up with us, but all sprawl and go-a-head ! We can 
beat the wind, and sometimes contrive to outtire the 
lightning." 

MARKAM. 

"But, major, I think you said you were in the army ?" 



94 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



WHEELER. 

" I didn't say no such thing. I'm major of the Pen- 
obscot Fencibles ! Got the finest set of fellers under 
my command, only they are a leetle tew firey on train- 
in' days, and don't altogether mind the word of com- 
mand ; and, when they shoulder arms, they hold their 
muskets a leetle tew slantin' dicular, so they are rather 
apt to shoot into each others' mouths. I'll be darn'd if 
I did'nt once have to walk about for three days with a 
drawn sword to get them critters on the ground, and 
then had to hire a horse and cart to get them off agin ; 
but, for all that, they don't make bad husbands, or fa- 
thers, and, with the aid of steam, will be able to arrive 
at what I call human perfectability." 

MARKAM. 

" "What may I understand by that, Major ?" 

WHEELER. 

" When every man is able to strap a b'iler on his 
back, and go a thousand miles to market with a bale 
of cotton on his shoulders !" 

MARKAM. 

" Well, Major, you have some extravagant ideas, but 
allow me to say that in this matter I am sure you will 
meet with opposition." 

WHEELER. 

" Well, I never was beat by opposition, Oh, yes, I 
was once. We had an awful dry summer in the States, 
The airth ga£>ed open like an oyster bed ; it was so dry 
the women folks couldn't cry. I made a contract with 
the select men of our town to water it. Just as I got 
all ready, darn me if there did'nt come a shower out ot 
the clouds, and tuck the job out o' my hands." 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 95 

MARKAM. 

" Were you ever in love, Major, with a sweet, an- 
gelic, divine creature — were you, Major, eh — were 

you?" 

WHEELER. 

" Was I ever in love with any sweet, angelic, divine 
critter ? Wall, yes. There was two fat Sals in our 
town, Sal Stebbins and Sal Babit, real corn-fed 
gals I swow. They was both so fat they'd roll one 
way just as easy as 'tother, and, if anything, a leetle 
easier. Wall, there was a corn huskin, and I went 
along with Sal Stebbins. There was all the gals and 
boys sittin' round, and I got sot down so near Sail 
Babit, that darn me if I didn't kiss her afore I know'd 
what I was about. Sal Stebbins, she blushed ; the 
blood rushed right up into her hair. She was the best 
red critter I ever did see. I thought it was all up with 
me, and, sure enough, it was, for when I asked her if 
she'd go home with me, she said, " No ; you needn't 
trouble yourself nothin' tall about it. " Well," says I, 
" if you're a mind to get spunky, I guess I can get a 
gal that will let me see her hum. Sal Babit, shall I 
go hum with you % " Well," says she, " I don't mind if 
you dew.'' Arter that, Sal Stebbins married a feller in 
our town, by the name of Post, blind in one eye, and 
deaf in one ear, jist to spite me, nothin' else ; so I 
thought if she was a mind to take a feller that couldn't 
see or hear any tew well, I'd better let her slide, so I 
went away from home, and was gone about three, four 
five years — yes, yes, jist about five years, 'cause when 
I went back she had four leetle Posts. I went to see 
now she got along. She asked me to come in and sit 



96 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 

down. So I took a cheer and squatted. Then she 
took a cheer, and squatted tew, and we both squatted 
there togather. Her young ones was all runnin' round 
on the floor. She pinted to them, and said, in a sort of 
a braggin' way, ' You see them — don't you V ' Yes,' 
says I, squintin' up one eye, ' I see.' They was all jist 
like their dady, blind in one eye. She was bilin' dump - 
lins at the time, and as soon as she see me shut up one 
eye, she out with a dumplin, and let me have it in 
t'other, which made me shut it up a darned sight 
quicker than ever I did afore, and I ha'int been in 
love since that time." 

Instead of lodging at the hotel, it was thought desi- 
rable to secure a bed for the night in some private 
boarding house — : the better to see the people at home, 
and gather the doings of a class not usually found at a 
first-rate hotel. 

An old-fashioned three gabled roof house was pointed 
out as one likely to answer the purpose, and the more 
particularly so, as a sign on the gate announced the fact 
that genteel ladies and gentlemen were taken to board, 
and transient lodgers accommodated. On one post of 
the gate was a faded sign, " Miss Spinks, Fashionable 
Dress Maker," partly defaced, in blue letters. 

On the opposite post was a sign : " Dr. Hashlaw — 
!N". B. doctors after the Indian fashion. Studied sixteen 
years with the Indians. Cures humors, cancers, and all 
sorts of diseases without mercury. Warranted." 

" That's the place," said Hill, " there's fun there— let's 
go in." His companion carelessly, in passing the post, 
tore the sleeve of his coat by coming in contact with the 
corner of Miss Spinks' red sign. 



GEOKGE HAXDEL HILL. 97 

Upon enquiry it was ascertained that the two indi- 
viduals seeking lodgings for the night could be acorn- 
modated, and they were shown to the room appointed 
for their quarters. 

Information was given that the tea hour was six 
o'clock. Hill departed to look up old acquaintances 
by himself, while his friend, whom Miss Spinks had 
furnished with some thread, a needle, and a pair of 
scissors, was engaged in mending the rip on his coat. 

Miss Spinks had been the " fashionable dress maker" 
of the place for five-and-twenty years, and was fond of 
Byron, Bohea and blushes. 

She did not consider herself old, but time had made 
such marks upon her brow as are not usually seen upon 
the skin of maidens under twenty. She, according to 
a tradition which was circulated in Mrs. Mandrill's 
house, was constantly dreading aloud, " The day when 
she should be forty years of age," while pert misses 
often said she would never see that day again. 

Hill exchanged a word or two with Spinks in relation 
to who the gentleman was that wanted the needle and 
thread. His replies were not noticed at the time, but, 
as it proved, he was laying the foundation for a practi- 
cal joke at the expense of his travelling companion, who 
had forgotten his promise of retaliation for the Quincy 
silence. 

There was in the door of the room in which Mr. — — 
was mending his coat, an oval opening, for what pur- 
pose it did not appear. 

Hearing considerable bustle and whispering at the 

door, Mr. left off work, and getting up to the hole, 

discovered the landlady, Miss Spinks, and the Indian 



98 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 

doctor busily engaged in fastening the door on the out- 
side, by putting a piece of wood through the handle of 
the latch. " What had Hill been telling these people ?" 
thought his friend. He put on his coat and attempted 
to open the door. A loud " hu — sh" was heard, and they 
all vanished ; no entreaty could induce them to open it. 
After an hour, or more, Hill returned and entered ; 
a roguish leer, with serious efforts for the mastery, 
overspread his countenance. 

The bell for tea rang. Hill, in reply to the questions 
asked by his friend for the reason of locking him in the 
room, said, " Wait until after tea, and I will explain. 
Miss Spinks is not exactly straight in her ideas ; she 
has made a mistake, but it is all capable of explanation." 
Hill and his friend walked into the dining-room ; a for- 
mal introduction to the family was speedily disposed of, 
and all took their seats at the table. Every eye was 
upon the Boston gentleman, but it was not Mr. Hill who 
was the greater object of attention. 

Mr. laid his hand upon a knife. 

" Hem," said Miss Spinks, " he's got a knife." 

Hill removed the knife, then the fork. His friend 
rose up to follow them, when he was seized by the doc- 
tor and Mr. Mandrill, and forcibly carried back to the 
chamber. 

Without entering further into details, as to the finish 
of this joke, the reader will understand what was going 
on when he is acquainted with the dialogue between 
Mr. Hill and the respectable dresa-making spinster, 
Miss Spinks, after she had furnished the needle, thread, 
and etceteras. 

Thus it was as Hill gave it : 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 99 

MBS SPINES. 

" Dew tell us, Mr. Hill, what does your friend want 
with needle and thread ?" 

HILL. 

" I. don't know ma' am. Did he ask you for it ?" 

MISS SPINES. 

" He did, really. He don't look right. What is his 
business ?" 

HILL. 

" He was a tailor, now he is a poet. His father's rich. 
very rich, and when John, my friend, tears his coat, he 
will mend it himself ; but, if you promise not to tell 
any one, I'll tell you a secret about him. Love has 
ruined him !" 

SPINES. 

How is it?" 

HILL. 

" Will you promise not to tell one soul in the house 
until I come back ? 

SPINES. 

" Of course, I will not." 

HILL. 

"He was engaged to a beautiful voung ladv — hand- 
somest woman in Philadelphia — a quakeress. Her pa- 
rents refused consent. One day he walked into the 
meeting-house, and took her by force from her parents. 
This act broke up the meeting. All the men ran after 
him, caught him, brought back the lady, and, in less 
than a month, her father married her to an old man, and 
my friend went crazy ; had his head shaved, wears a 
wig, and whenever he wants a needle and thread I know 
the fit is coming on." 



100 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 

SPINES. 

" And he is really crazy — insane V 

HILL. 

" Yes, but harmless ; rather fond of the society of the 
ladies at that time — that's all. Now, I am going out ; 
if anything happens, first fasten the door till I return — 
that's all, and keep it secret." 

Of course, as soon as Hill had left, she shared the se- 
cret with Mrs. Mandrill, then the help — cautioning them 
all — then the neighbors ; then followed what the reader 
has been made acquainted with. 

The result of this joke was a desire of the family, 
communicated by Miss Spinks with many apologies, 
that the Boston gentlemen would go over to the tavern 
and lodge, as they really couldn't think of sleeping with 
a crazy man in the house. So Mr. Hill and his friend 
adjourned to the Taunton hotel. During the evening, 
Hill ascertained that the Rev. Stephen Hull, in whose 
garret he began play-acting, had been located some 
time in the town of Carlisle, and was the beloved pastor 
of a clever flock of Yankee parishioners in that ancient 
and honorable town. 

From old Gad Brickford he learned the story of one 
'Abner Tanner, a fisherman who started in a fishing 
smack laden with produce for Boston, viz : herrings, 
cabbage, onions, &c, but, in a gale, was blown off the 
coast, and kept sailing until he was brought up in the 
Mediterranean, and sold his cargo to the Turks at a great 
profit. „ The veritable adventures of this Yankee Sin- 
bad were the subject of a drama, and the public have 
laughed often at Mr. Hill's rich delineation of a real 



GE0KGE HANDEL HILL 101 

Taunton fresh-water sailor — by name Abner Tanner, in 
the drama of " The Yankee in Tripoli." It was decided 
between Mr. Hill and his friend, that they should leave 
Taunton early in the morning for Boston and Car- 
lisle. I 






102 PICTOKIAL LIFE OF 



CHAPTEE XI. 

"Blow winds— crack your cheeks." 
"And the old time came over me." 
" The Boys of Seventy-six." 

A TRIP TO CARLISLE — A STAY AT LEXINGTON — THUNDER STORM— CHARAC- 
TERS OP THE VILLAGE INN — THE OLD REVOLTJTIONER AND HIS STORY. 

Mk. Hill and his companion arrived in Boston about 
sun-set, and leaving the bays and carriage with the pro- 
prietor, a serious-looking, honest-going black horse was 
put into a chaise, and in this vehicle the two character 
hunters started for Carlisle. 

They had scarcely crossed the old Cambridge bridge 
when the clouds and rising wind gave tokens of a show- 
er. It did not rain, however, until the parties reached 
Lexington, where they found comfortable quarters in 
a hotel near the battle ground, and ordered supper, de- 
termined to remain until the storm was over. The spirit 
of the age has changed the appearance of the bar-room 
of a country tavern since that time. In this devoted 
room of the hostelrie was congregated some of the cha- 
racters of the village. There seems to be a set of simi- 
lar characters in all towns. 

If one has observed, he will find that representatives 
of the peculiarities of certain classes are to be seen 
everywhere. Almost every village has its club-foot 
boy, girl, man or woman. So will the observer notice 
everywhere some hump-backed man, woman, or child, 



GEOEGE HANDEL HDLL. 103 

broke his or her back ; or the nurse let the cripple fall 
when he or she was an infant. Respectable persons 
rarely fall down stairs ; their calamities usually result 
from the carelessness of the nurse. 

Almost every village has its victim to Fourth of July 
salutes, fired from rusty cannon, in the shape of a man 
who has lost an arm or an eye. 

In some localities will be found persons suffering 
from the casualties of rock blasting ; in other places 
may be seen those who have been caught in machinery 
and run over by railroad trains. 

Yery often the bar-room of the village tavern is the 
resort of the sufferers, and their stories serve to excite 
the sympathy and charity of the traveller from whom 
they receive change, which they too often invest in 
toddy and segars. 

It is a noted fact that cripples, from congenial defor- 
mity, bear the impress of their loss upon their face ; and 
the expression of the countenance of persons having 
club-feet will be found very much alike. 

This similitude of likeness will be noticed in hump- 
backs, who, for the most part, are shrewd, smart, and 
have a peculiarity of voice. I dare say the physiologist 
can explain all this. The subject is not, however, in- 
troduced here for the purpose of philosophical discus- 
sion, or to solve a problem in physiology. 

In the Lexington bar-room was a hump-backed boy 
some eighteen years of age, a man who had lost his arm 
in firing a Fourth of July salute, and a boy with that 
species of club-foot, called talipes equinus by scientific 
men. But it is not to be supposed the reader cares to 
know any more than he can understand about the dif- 



104 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



ferent kinds, or what the complications are, of these af- 
fections of bones and tendons which result in this club- 
foot. Modern surgery cures it, may be added in paren- 
thesis, for the benefit of any club-footed reader who is 
not aware of the fact. 

There were others in the bar-room ; — the red-eyed 
disciple of cider-drinking was there ; also the seedy store- 
keeper of other years, who had seen hard times. He 
once enjoyed a reputation of being a smart man, but 
now was engaged in no business, and existed upon an 
allowance sent to him by a daughter well married in 
Boston. If half muddled, he was constantly talking of 
" My darter and her rich husband." 

Sitting in an old arm-chair, half asleep, was an elderly 
person — one of a class fast leaving the scene. He was 
a revolutionary pensioner. He had once been tall, and 
strongly formed in his youth, and was a man of account 
in the town of Lexington — famous, as being the first spot 
upon which blood was shed by the troops of England in 
the attempt to drive away the revolutionists of the 
state. 

Near to where this remnant of revolution days was 
sitting, a monument marks the scene of blood. What a 
contrast in the youth and age of this old patriot ! His 
head was nearly bald, the skin white as ivory, and 
around his ears hung thin locks of white hair. He was 
bent down, wrinkled, and trembling, as-he leaned upon 
his long stick. 

The rain had driven under cover all the frequenters of 
the tavern. Hill and his friend, too, came in, after hav- 
ing ordered supper, intending to occupy the time while 
the cook was engaged in the duties of her office, with 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 105 

observation upon the different parties of the groups be- 
fore them. 

A buxom girl put her head through a door leading 
to the bar, and wanted to know if the gentlemen would 
have " meat vittles for supper, or only pie and cake." 

" Meat vittles, in the shape of chicken and beef," said 
Hill, " and plenty of it, for I am hungry. If the rain 
ceases, we are going to Carlisle to-night on important 
business, and we shall be too late to feed there." 

" Chicken and beef," said the bar-keeper ; " quick, 
with all the fixins." The girl vanished. " Go it, 
Sukey," said the hump-back. " Good night for court- 
in," said Club-foot. Fourth of July victim said, " Give 
us a story, Uncle Bill — will you ? I'll stand the toddy. 
Come, tell us one of the old kind. You can't go home 
yet — it rains hard. Hear how it thunders." Uncle Bill 
was the old revolutionary soldier. 

He laughed, said he was " a leetle dry, and he 
shouldn't object to a mug of cider, but "he couldn't tell 
any story that he hadn't told a hundred times." 

Hill became interested, and, walking to the old sol- 
dier, said to him, " Sir, I am an American, and this is the 
first time I have ever been in Lexington. I don't wish 
to insult an old patriot by offering him money, but I 
should like to hear your story of old times, and shall 
be happy to have you take supper with my friend and 
myself as soon as it is ready." 

" Thank you kindly," said the old gentleman, " but 
my stories would not please you. You are from Bos- 
ton, I take it ?" 

"Yes," said Hill. 

" Give the gentlemen the story about Hitty Parkins,' 
said Hunchback- 



106 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



"Yes, Uncle Bill," said Club-foot. "First time I 
hearn that story I was a little shaver, and I laughed 
so, I liked to laugh my trousers off." 

" He, he, he," chuckled the old soldier. " Well, I'll 
tell it, but there's nothin' in it as I know on that 'ill 
please you, seeing as you didn't know the people con- 
sarned. They are all dead but me, else I don't know 
as it would be right to tell on it." 

The old man took a long drink out of the mug of 
cider, which had been brought to him by the request 
of Mr. Hill. He laid down his broad brim, rubbed 
his forehead with his thin fingers, a smile playing over 
his wrinkled and time-marked face, as he was calling 
to mind the thread of his story, which he had told so 
often, he said, he had nigh forgotten it. The congrega- 
tion of the bar-room gathered around to hear the old 
man's tale. 

* Well, to begin my story right, I ought to tell some- 
thing that's never got into any history I ever heerd 
on 'bout them days— everybody has heerd or read 
how the British was in Boston that winter, and kept 
pretty much snug, too. Their's different stories going 
how they came to know that there was any powder 
up to Concord. 

%t I used to carry down vegetables to old Cambridge 
for the man I worked for, and Sam Jakeman used to 
ride in the old cart with me, and we used to talk 
'bout things as we rode along to keep us awake. 

"We used to start in them days early in mornin', for 
there wasn't no bridges then, and if we wanted to go 
to Boston, we had to go around over Boston neck. 
Well, Sam Jakeman was try in' to be a lawyer, and 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 107 

he kind-o-had something to do with a man in Cam- 
bridge, who used to give him some kind of teachin' 
out of Latin books ; and Sam used to get off the Latin 
things to me in the cart. He used to talk mightily to 
me about Cicero, and Caesar, and Pompey, and amongst 
the gals the high-flown stuff used to go nice. Well, I 
kind o' suspected if there was any tightin' to be done, 
Sam's gun would be his own mouth, and the balls would 
be Latin words. One day I went to Charlestown with a 
load of stuff, and Sam went with me. I was to wait for 
him till he did up some business, but I got rid of my 
load that day pretty quick. I went to hurry Sam along, 
so I left my team. I went — oh, dear, my memory is 
rather short, for, you see, gentlemen, I'm nigh eighty 
years of age. Well, well, it will come directly." 

" To the tavern on the Keck, Uncle Bill ; that's the 
way you used to tell it." 

" Yes, yes," said the old man, putting away the cider 
mug into which he had been looking, " to the tavern on 
the Keck. "Well, I see a boat crossing the river with 
some red-coated sogers in it ; and when they got to the 
store who should go and meet them but Sam Jakeman. 
First, I thought I'd go after him — then, again, I thought 
I wouldn't ; but, on the whole, I concluded to drive 
home, and let Sam Jakeman get along the best way he 
could. So I started, and gave Betty a good cut. Betty 
was the critter I drove — a nice mare, I tell ye, Betty 
was. Well, Betty and I came home. 

" On the road I kept thinkin' what on airth Sam was 
talking; to them sogers for. I didn't like to tell on't to 
any body, and yet I thought I oughtn't to keep it secret ; 
so I concluded I'd tell Mr. Parkins. 



108 



PICTOEIAL LIFE OF 



" Well, Mr. Parkins had a gal — a darter. I s'pose, 
gentlemen, you wouldn't believe me if I should tell you 
that Mr. Parkins' Hitty, or Mehitable, as she was 
named, was considered the likeliest gal in the town of 
Lexington. I always thought so, anyhow. "Well, Sam 
Jakeman courted this gal, and she had rather a notion 
for sparks that had larnin', and Sam's Ciceros, and 
Pompeys, and the rest of them Latin fellows used to 
please Hitty considerable. So I kind-o' thought it 
wouldn't do to tell her to tell her father. So, arter 
some thinkin', I concluded to do it my self. Well, I up 
and told the old man how I come to leave him in 
Charlestown. Well, I knew it was his courtin' night 
with Kitty, and if he didn't come Kitty would know 
the reason somehow. 

" Hitty used to treat me pretty well, and get up airly 
to get my breakfast and send me off to market. To be 
sure, Sam used to be there, but however, old man Park- 
ins, he concluded not to tell Hitty till he see how it 
come out, so he sends me next day to market agin. 

" Now Hitty, she got up to get my breakfast, and she 
seemed kind-o'-out of sorts. I know'd the reason, 'cause 
Sam didn't come the night before. 

" While she was frying the eggs, says she, ' Bill, why 
didn't Mr. Jakeman come home with you ?' 

" ' Well, Miss Parkins," says I, " I believe he didn't 
get quite through his business in Charlestown.' 

i% I always called her Miss Parkins — she always called 
me Bill, and Sam she called Mr. Jakeman. 

" Well, I seed she was oneasy ; I felt so bad about it 
that I come pretty near telling her the whole. I seed 
nothin' went right. The fat flew up in her eyes, and 



GEOEGE HANDEL HILL . 109 

the eggs wouldn't cook. So, says I, 'Miss Parkins, 
don't trouble yourself ;' and she looked up with such a 
good-natured smile, that I wanted to tell her again all 
about Sam. 

" Well, afore I go any further, I want to tell you one 
thing, gentlemen, for fear I should forget it. 

" Sam Jakeman know'd there was powder in Concord, 
and that's what he told the British soldiers in the boat, 
though we didn't know it till afterwards." 

" That don't come yet, Uncle Bill," said Hunchback. 

" Eo, Uncle Bill," said Club-foot, " you didn't tell 
that till after you told about Hitty and you." 

" Stop," said Fourth of July victim, " you youngsters, 
let the old man tell the story as he likes." 

" Yes," said Hill, " the old gentleman's memory is 
coming to him." 

He had, during this interruption, occupied his time 
with the cider mug. 1 suppose it was wrong to drink 
cider, but it was the custom of his day. 

" Ah," said the old soldier, smacking his lips, " these 
youngsters have great memories." 

" Well, Sam got home next day before I did, and 
told his own story. I shall never tell how I got the 
news, but I did get it, that the British were goin' to start 
next day for Concord after powder. I dropped my 
load, and drove home. I told Mr. Parkins, and pretty 
soon it got about ; and the people had to make up their 
minds what was to be done. We begun to look up 
the guns, and shot and powder. 

" I asked Miss Parkins, that is Hitty, how the women 
folks felt about shooting at the Britishers, if the British- 
ers shot at them ? ' Well,' she said, ' the married folks 



110 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



didn't like much the idea of having their husbands 
killed, and the gals didn't like to have their beaus shot, 
but if the British did come up, and if she had a feller 
that wouldn't stand up for his own land, she'd give hi in 
the mitten just as soon as the fight was over.' 

" I said nothin' just then, but I thought Sam Jake- 
man, with all his Latin and Ciceros, would have a hard 
chance afore winter." 

The old man paused. He was evidently enjoying a 
reminiscence of past days. 

Hill enquired if supper was ready. " Ah," said the 
old man, " I see my story is too long for you, gentle- 
men. You are tired." 

" No," said Hill, " go on with the story. Tell the 
cook not to hurry the chickens — -to cook 'em easy. Go 
on, sir." 

" Well," resumed the old man, " Sam was round as 
usual, but kind of onasy. Mr. Parkins brought in a 
large old-fashioned firelock, which had been used in the 
old French war, and had sent a buliet or two into the 
jackets of Indians in old times ; and says he to Sam, 
' Mr. Jakeman, if you hear a drum early in the morn- 
ing to-morrow, I want you to get up. Ask no questions, 
and follow me with the old firelock. And Bill,' says he 
to me, c there's one for you.' 

" Sam looked streaked, and says I, ' I and Mr. Jake- 
man will go together if there is any trouble.' He kind 
o' stuttered out < Yes,' but he looked awful bad. Well, 
I left him and Miss Parkins, that is, Hitty, alone, to do 
what courtin' they had to do, and I never told anybody 
what happened between Hitty and Sam that night, 
though Hitty told me all about it afterwards ; but that 
was the last time they ever sat up together. 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. Ill 

" Well, it's no use my telling what happened on the 
nineteenth of April out on the green there, where the 
monument is, for it's been talked on, and printed, and 
read by every woman, man, and child in histories and 
school-books. None of them can tell about Sam Jake- 
man, or me, or Hitty Parkins. 

" When we all went on the green, waiting for the red 
coats to fire at us, Sam Jakeman warn't there, and I'il 
tell you the reason — the old man, Parkins, was there 
with the firelock, and there was one there, a roguish sort 
of a chap, with the old French firelock that was left out 
for Sam Jakeman. Nobody seemed to know him, but 
he stud up strait with the rest on us. 

" But stop ; before I go any further to tell you about 
the hand that pulled the trigger of that old firelock, I'll 
tell you where Sam Jakeman was." 

The old man was taking a fresh pull at the cider 
mug. 

Clubfoot begins — " I'll tell you where he was." 

" Hush up," said Hunchback; " let Uncle Bill tell it 
his self. I like to hear Uncle Bill laugh when he tells 
it." 

" Let the old man tell the story out,'' said Hill. 

After a smack of the lips, and a roll of the tongue, 
which took all the loose drops of cider still remaining on 
the lips of the old man, he settled himself in the chair, 
and with a chuckle he proceeded : — 

" Well, Sam Jakeman went down cellar. There was 
a dark bin where we used to keep potatoes ; it had a lock 
on it. He went in there instead of going somewhere 
else that night, and Hitty locked him in. 

"He was a little skeary of two things — fighting on one 



112 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



side, with a chance of being shot, or getting found out 
for telling the British about the powder. 

" Well, now you know where Sam Jakeman was." 

The old man begins his laugh — " He-he-he-he. I'll 
tell you what Hitty did. There we stood on the green, 
and our captain said, if anybody wanted to go home, 
now was the time. Nobody started, you may depend 
upon that. The women were looking out of the windows 
round in the houses. There warn't many on 'em then ; 
and soon somebody said, ' They're comin'.' 

" Creation, I tell you, we felt kind of curious most all 
on us, as we heard the music, and saw the troops comin' 
up the road as fine as a fid die ; but we kind of edged up 
close together, and the Captain said, ' Men, that won't 
do to stand so close on to one another. If they do fire 
on us, they may hit some on us, and the further apart 
you stand, in reason, the better chance not to get hit. 
Some balls won't go through the spaces ; besides we 
shall make more show to stand over a leetle more 
ground.' 

" Well, all this time they were comin' along, and I 
was thinkin' so much of whether my gun would miss 
fire or not, that I did not notice all that was goin' on 
till somebody said ' Fire !' My gun was pinted right to 
a man on a horse, and I let her go, and the man fell ; 
and I always run away with a notion that I wounded 
him or killed him. I never knew. 

" But we had to clear out after a spell ; and the chap 
that had Sam Jakeman's firelock got wounded in the 
arm, and when they took her home, it was Hitty Park- 
ins in a feller's clothes ; but that's the only time I ever 
knowd her wear the breeches." 

Here the old man had his laugh and another drink. 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 113 

As the old man made a long pause, Hill asked him 
what became of Sam Jakeman. 

" Oh," said he, " after the doctor fixed Hitty's arm, 
she told her father where to find him in the potato bin, 
and she said she took his place among the men to keep 
the number good. 

" So they pulled Sam out among 'em. He was glad 
to clear out of this town, and neither he or any of his 
descendants have ever been heard of in the town ot 
Lexington since." 

The old man laughed, and all joined with him. Upon 
the question being asked what became of Hitty Parkins. 

" Why," said the old man, " arter a while she and I 
got married, and we had the good luck to have a 
dozen children, and some of the boys fought for their 
country, and died in the last war, doing their duty. 
Oh, that's a long while ago, and I'm alive yet. All 
dead but me." 

" Supper's ready," said the girl. After a hearty 
shake of the hand, Hill bid the old gentleman good 
night, and with his companion retired to the supper 
room. 



114 



PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



CIIAPTEE XII. 



"Let us take the Road." 

"A man he was to all the country dear, 
And passing rich, with forty pounds a year. 



THE JOURNEY TO CARLISLE — MIDNIGHT ARRIVAL AND VISIT TO THE MIN- 
ISTER — THE COMEDIAN AND THE CLERTGMAN — THE BLESSING AND THE 
BAKED POTATOES — THE FAREWELL — THE CLERGYMAN'S FORTUNE — DE- 
PARTURE FROM CARLISLE. 

An hour was passed in discussing the fare of the ta- 
vern. The shower was over ; the horse, refreshed by a 
meal of oats, stood ready at the door. The bar-room 
cleared of the guests which had gathered there, as usual 
they had departed for home, according to the customs 
and habits of the different individuals composing the 
group. 

The bill was settled, the bar-keeper merely asking 
which way, they were going, as he handed the change, 
after taking his own charge from the gold piece ten- 
dered to him in payment for the "meat vittles" con- 
sumed, and the "fixins" and accompaniments to the 
aforesaid " meat vittles." 

Hill replied that he must be in Carlisle that night. 

" Carlisle!" said the man. "I didn't think that any- 
body ever had any particular business in Carlisle. Have 
you ever been there ?" 

" Never have. I cannot miss the way ; can I?" said 
Hill. 

" No ; — straight road." 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 115 

The two travellers were soon on their way, enjoy- 
ing their lighted cigars, which served in the darkness 
to make light enough to see each other's countenance. 

There were divers opinions in relation to the distance 
from Lexington to Carlisle, as was discovered by fre- 
quent enquiries of passing travellers, and also by the 
different distances recorded on the several guide-boards. 
On the following day, when returning from this famous 
rural district, (Carlisle,) it was ascertained that the ac- 
tual distance, though called eight miles, was still an 
open question. 

A ride to this town by a summer's moonlight, with a 
companion just suited to the " witching time of night," 
could not be without interest. There is hill and valley, 
plain and swamp, wood and village, bridge and river, to 
pass ; and it is well known that other things besides 
faded beauties look best by moonlight. 

Without occupying* the time in describing the ride 
which was actually taken up in accomplishing it, be it 
understood that in the neighborhood of one, a.m., the 
horse was reined up to a tolerable spacious house with 
a swinging sign before its door, announcing that this 
was the tavern of the ancient city of Carlisle. A lamp 
was dimly burning in one of the lower windows — a se- 
gar box placed in its rear to prevent the reflection of 
its somewhat consumptive looking rays upon the occu- 
pant of this room, whose duty it was to take in tra- 
vellers for the night. At this time there was much 
night travel on the road — heavy wagons, loaded with 
produce, going into Boston market one day, returning 
with merchandise the next, for the use of the dwellers 
in the counties who could not then, as now, conveniently 



116 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



go to the emporium themselves to procure such of the 
necessaries and luxuries of life as abound in the city. 

, Alas ! the glory of the old tavern has -departed. The 
cheerful talk of the teamster to his team is seldom 
heard. The drover, shouting to his flocks and herds, on 
their way to Brighton, is now a circumstance of note, 
when before it was a matter of course as came near the 
market day. 

A knock at the door soon roused the tavern watch- 
man from his slumbers and his dreams. Lantern in 
hand, he stood at the door viewing the equipage and 
the travellers with gaping mouth and wondering eye. 

Hill commenced in a tone and style upon which Solo- 
mon Swop was modelled. 

" 'Say you, man, what town's this ?" 

" Carlisle," said the ostler, with another yawn, gape, 
and stretch, and the accent strong on the last syllable of 
" Carlisle." 

" Carlisle ?" said Hill. 

« Yes." 

" Will you tell us can you put us up in your tavern, 
horse, chaise, and us two fellers, all slick ?" 

" Yes, I guess so," said the man ; " I'll call up the 
boss. Won't you come in ? I'll tie the horse." 

" No," said Hill ; " if you can't put us up, go in, 
and see what your man says." 

Off he went to wake up the boss, but not, however, 
until he had taken another look at the chaise and both 
persons. Something seemed to puzzle him, and a slight 
conversation overheard between ostler and boss gave 
the key to his embarrassment. 

" In a chaise, you say, this time o' night?" said Boss # 



GEOBGE HANDEL HILL. 117 



" Yes," said Ostler. " 'Say, you don't s'pose they 
stole it, do you ?" 

" No," said Boss ; " kind o' curious though to be in 
this town at this time. Who do they look like ?" 

" Well, kind-o'-like most any feller critters ; they 
seem to have on pretty good clothes, but one feller talks 
like a greeny, and the other don't say nothin'." 

" Well, guess we'll take 'em in. You look out sharp 
for 'em in the morning. Put 'em in a good room." 

Hill and his companion were discussing the same sub- 
ject of "rooms" as ostler returned, saying, "It was all 
right." 

"Well, put up the horse, and, perhaps, we shan't tum- 
ble your beds. Can you tell me in what part of this 
town the Eeverend Stephen Hull lives ?" said Hill. 

"Yes ; he's the minister. You know him then?" 

" I do ; and I must see him to-night." 
" Well, if you'll wait until I untackle your horse, I'll 
go up the road a piece and show you the minister's 
house." 

"Agreed," said Hill. 

The horse was soon out of harness and in the stable. 
The ostler went into the tavern, telling the boss that 
the gentlemen knew the minister, Mr. Hull, and were 
going up to see him right off," adding in a knowing 
kind of tone : " I guess they didn't steal the horse and 
chaise, nor nothin', else they wouldn't go to the min- 
ister's." 

The party were soon on the road to the minister's, 
Hill continuing to do all the talking with the guide, who 
was asking all sorts of questions as to " what business 
they had with the minister of Carlisle at that hour?" 



118 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



Hill, taking him a little one side, whispered to him, 
" That his friend, who didn't say much, had come all the 
way from England to tell the minister that some one of 
the Hull family had died, and left him a tremendous 
fortin." He counselled him not to mention it, as it was 
to be kept dark out of the family, until he had re- 
ceived the money. 

The ostler appeared all at once in a hurry to get 
back to the tavern, and, pointing to a neat cottage, a few 
roods distant in a lane, surrounded by trees from among 
which a light twinkled, he said, " That's the minister's 
house," — and hastily returned. 

Hill entered the garden, and, tapping at the window 
in which was the light, a voice responded — "Who's 
there?" 

" Friend," answered Hill. " "Who lives here ?" 

" Hull lives here. Who is friend that enquires ?" 

" Hill." 

"What Hill?" 

"What Hull?" 

" Stephen Hull, minister." 

" I am George Handel Hill, play-actor. Don't you 
know me?" 

" Yes ; I know that name. Stop a moment." 

A heavy sound on the floor gave evidence that some- 
body was jumping out of bed; and in a short time the 
Keverend Stephen Hull, in his night robe, had opened 
the door, and was heartily shaking the hand of his ac- 
tor nephew. 

Hill introduced his friend to the reverend gentleman, 
and after a little conversation, Aunt Hull was added to 
the party, and gave Nephew George such a greeting as 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL 119 

aunts of the old-fashioned style only know how and are 
. willing to give. Many years had elapsed since the part- 
ing at Raynham, and the reminiscences called up by 
this unexpected interview were of the most interesting 
character. An hour was spent in conversing principally 
on family matters and the journey to Carlisle, when the 
Reverend Stephen Hull and his wife retired to renew 
their repose, broken by the advent of two individu- 
als, who were first escorted to the best room in the par- 
sonage house, where a good bed with snowy looking 
sheets awaited them. 

" Good night, " although now morning, was recipro- 
cally wished, and thoughts of daylight waited upon the 
closing eyes of the comedian and his friend, as they 
congratulated themselves upon sleeping under the roof 
of a clergyman of some pretensions in those parts, and, 
also, as they contemplated what would be the action of 
his parishioners when they should hear of the large for- 
tune left to their hospitable, eccentric minister and spi- 
ritual guide. 

One of the Reverend Stephen Hull's peculiarities was 
a fondness for baked potatoes ; another, for certain quo- 
tations from Shakspeare, although he professed little 
sympathy with the player and his calling. His conver- 
sation had been " interlarded," to use one of his own 
phrases, with these quotations ; and he had more than 
once promised to give his guests at breakfast a touch of 
the quality of his potatoes, and his wife's style of serv- 
ing them, strongly impressing upon her memory the 
kind to select, and how long to permit them to undergo 
the process of baking. 
Expectation was high, as the potatoes were discussed, 



120 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



and Shakspeare divided the honors with this tuber of 
universal appreciation. 

Morning came in all its summer glory. The bright 
sun, as its rays were reflected upon the trees and fields 
of green, wet with the showers of evening, made the 
green carpet of vegetation glitter as if a million gems 
were suspended from bough, leaf, and spear. 

The clergyman and the actor had walked in tKe gar- 
den, conversing of the time that had passed since their 
separation — the one in the prime of life, the other, a 
boy new to the world and its trials, yet daring its perils 
for a reward when they should be surmounted. How 
many fall in the battle of life ! yet these two, travelling 
different roads, had met again ; the one verging towards 
old age — the snows of winter whitening his head, and 
his position taken without worldly hopes of advance- 
ment ; the other, enjoying his conquest over adversity, 
and hailing, with strong hopes of the future, the success 
of the present. 

" Do you get money by acting, George ?" said the 
clergyman. 

" Yes ; a hundred dollars for one night — sometimes 
two ; and I have had seven and eight hundred dollars 
come to me for my nights' share," said Hill. 

"The dogs, you do !" said the minister; " then you'll 
be rich if nothing happens — won't you?" 

" I hope to be able to give my children a good edu- 
cation, and place them properly before the world,'' re- 
plied Hill. 

" That's right," said he. " George, you was a Satan 
when you was a boy. Now, only to think of it, by fol- 
lowing up them didos you used to cut up in the barns — 



GEOBGE HANDEL HILL. 121 

that kind of play-acting that we used to try to keep you 
from — you can make more money in a night than I can 
make in a year : 

' Just as the twig is bent the tree's inclined.' 

That's Pope, George — not Shakspeare." 

" Well, Uncle, you would not advise me to give uj, 
my trade ?" said Hill. 

" !No, if you make money by it. I suppose if there's 
a demand there must be a supply. I think if I was you 
I should work at it a spell longer. What do you play ?" 

"Yankees are my favorite characters." 

"Yankees?" 

" Yes ; country boys." 

" And do the people in the cities pay a hundred dol- 
lars a night only to see in the theatre what they can see 
in our village for nothing ?" 

" They do. Before I played Yankees, I worked for 
ten dollars a week.'' 

" The dogs, you did ! Well, then, George, speak 
well of the Yankees — always speak well of the bridge 
that carries you safe over." 

" I shall," said Hill. 

" All the world's a stage, 
And all the men and women merely players." 

" True enough, true enough," said the Reverend Ste- 
phen Hull, and the wife of the Reverend Stephen Hull 
stood at the door, with a smile upon her face, an- 
nouncing that " breakfast was ready." 

The smile became contagious, for the parson and his 
guests were smiling also as they entered the house to 
partake of the morning meal. 



122 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



That universal stimulant, a good appetite, was present, 
bnt the neatly set table, covered with generous and sa- 
vory eatables, made appetite even more eager. 

The Reverend Stephen Hull cast his eyes over the 
display upon the table, and at a glance seemed to com- 
pass the entire fare. The sight of the cream toast, the 
smell of the ham and eggs, seemed to inspire him with 
gratitude to the Giver of good things ; yet he appeared 
anxious ; as was his custom, he craved a blessing upon 
the repast, closing with the usual words — " And for 
what we are about to receive, make us, O, our Creator, 
truly thankful. Amen." 

The expression of his face wore the same anxious look 
it did before he commenced his appeal to grace ; and 
"amen" had scarcely escaped from his lips, before, re- 
moving the covers from two or three dishes, he ex- 
claimed, " My dear, where are the baked potatoes ?" 

Mrs. Hull raised the cover of a dish, and there they 
were, cracked, open and mealy. 

The parson responded, " Ah, George, I thought she 
had forgotten them. 



" 'Now good digestion wait on appetite, 
And health on both.' " 



Said Hill's uncle Hull ; and he set as good an exam- 
ple of tall eating, as any man would wish to look at or 
emulate. Hill often, in after years, would refer to the 
breakfast in Carlisle, and the baked potatoes of his 
uncle, the minister. 

Breakfast over, family matters were again the theme 
of conversation for a time, until preparations were made 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 123 

for returning to the tavern. Promises were given to re- 
turn again to Carlisle, and assurances of a hearty wel- 
come were made by the host of the night. 

Bidding good-bye to Mrs. Hull, Hill and friend left 
the house, followed by the Reverend Mr. Hull some 
way in the road. 

" George," said he, " I always did give you good ad- 
vice about play-acting. It seems to be a good business, 
and you seem to be made for it. We should never 
quarrel with the ways of Providence. I'd stick to it. 
As the great bard says, 'Put money in thy purse ;' 
and there's Scripture for it too. Good-bye, George — 
good-bye, my friend ; for you are my friend if you are 
George's friend. I hope I shall see you again." 

He returned to his house ; Hill and his friend walked 
back to the tavern. Their arrival was the signal for 
considerable bustle. The men stared ; the women whis- 
pered, and pointed from behind doors at the travellers, 
and gave sundry telegraphic winks to the aforesaid "men 
folks.'' An important-looking personage stood upon the 
door-stone, who had taken his morning dram, and 
evinced the truth of his saying, " that he felt the better 
for it," by actions consonant with the idea. 

The horse had been ordered, and the ostler was en- 
gaged in carrying out the instructions given him rela- 
tive to a good rubbing for the horse, and certain care in 
the harnessing him to the vehicle. 

The important personage descended from the door- 
stone, saluting Hill with the usual " Pleasant morning, 
sir" — a phrase that is so frequently the prelude to a long 
conversation between persons meeting for the first time. 

Hill replied that "it was a fine morning.'' 



124 PICTOKIAL LIFE OF 



How far are you going to-day?" inquired the impor- 
tant personage. 

" To Boston," said Hill. 

" Ah, yes ; I frequently go to Boston. I have busi- 
ness there often." 

" I dare say," responded Hill. 

" I must have seen you somewhere." 

si Very likely; I go there often." 

" You have been to see Mr. Hull — eh, good man, Mr. 
Hull. I listen to his preaching. I sit under him with 
a good deal of satisfaction ; so does my wife and darters. 
Hope, we aint going to lose him ?" 

" I hope not," said Hill. 

" Well, if there's no harm in asking, how much for 
tin is there left for him — enough to make him inde- 
pendent for life ?" 

" I can't say." 

" Why, a'int you on the business about it ?" 

" ~No ; my friend there had some business with Mr. 
Hull. He may be able to inform you." 

"Well, I'm sorry, sir. Hope you don't think hard of 
me, but they told me in the house that somebody had 
left an independent fortin to the minister. I was going 
up to see him about it, and I thought I'd enquire at 
f head quarters first. So he can tell me — can he ?" — 
pointing to Hill's friend. 

" Yes, he can," said Hill. 

The interrogator stepped up to Hill's friend, who was 
at some distance, watching the movements of the 
ostler. 

" How d'ye do, sir ? Your friend tells me that you 
can tell me all about your business with Mr. Hull, con- 






GEORGE HANDEL HILL 125 

cerning the fortin that's left him. If I may be so bold, 
how is it?" 

" Sir," was the reply, " when any business is entrust- 
ed to me, I generally perform my duty in the premises. 
Now, this is a secret matter, and you must excuse me if 
I keep it so." 

" Oh, yes ; but I thought there was no harm in ask 
ing. I 6'pose there's no mistake about it that there's a 
fortin out there." 

The ostler announced that the horse was ready, and 
the two travellers stepped into the vehicle, bidding 
" good day" to a group of starers, all wondering who 
these two people were, and what could be the meaning 
of their mysterious visit to the Carlisle minister, unless 
it was as the ostler had told the maid, and she the 
mistress, and she the whole household, that a fortune 
had been left to the minister. 



126 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



CHAPTEK XIII. 

" For England, ho !" 

FIRST VISIT TO ENGLAND — APPEARANCE AT DRURY LANE THEATRE — IDEAS 
OF ENGLAND — RETURN. 

For some time I had determined to visit Europe pro- 
fessionally, although it was not without a great effort 
that I resolved to separate from my family for this voy- 
age ; and until the hour of parting came, the arrange- 
ment seemed to me like many other schemes of mine, 
which had been planned in earnest, but which entirely 
failed when the time arrived for putting them into exe- 
cution. 

This proved real ; and soon after bidding good-bye, 
I found myself on board the packet ship " 
bound for Liverpool. 

We had a cheerful set of passengers. Among them 
I may mention the Hon. Charles A. Murray, who was 
returning from a tour through the United States. It 
was his intention to publish a book of his travels. I 
make no doubt it will be an entertaining and impartial 
work. 

I can only inform my reader that after the usual in- 
cidents of a pleasant trip in a fine packet across the 
Atlantic, I arrived in Liverpool, and stood a stranger in 
the land of my forefathers. 

I experienced much anxiety in respect to my mission ; 
bow should I succeed. 



GEORGE . HANDEL HILL. 127 

Here Mr. Hill's journal seemed not to have been re- 
gularly kept, beyond dates and the ship's workings. 
Memoranda, here and there, refer to other memoranda 
in the pages of books, or on loose sheets of paper, which 
were hereafter to take their proper places in the jour-, 
nal, according to Mr. Hill's promise previous to his 
leaving home. 

He appeared at Drury Lane theatre on the evening 
of November 6th, 1835, as Hiram Dodge, in the " Yan- 
kee Pedlar." The newspapers of the day announced 
his debut as entirely successful. 

"What Mr. Hill's views were upon his arrival in 
England, and soon after he had played, may be ascer- 
tained by the following letters to a friend. 

The hiatus occaisoned by the unfinished journal, may 
in part be supplied from this source. It had been Mr. 
Hill's intention to collect his " loose memoranda," with 
a view to complete this unfinished part of his life, as 
before stated. 

The narrative is necessarily again interrupted by the 
introduction, at this time, of the letters. Their contents 
are descriptive of the events in the order of time to 
which they belong. Mr. Hill's letters to his wife are 
more elaborate, but so mingled with domestic matters, 
and private business directions, as to render them inap- 
propriate for the purpose of this work. 

London, October 20^, 1836. 

My Dear Friend, — There is no mistake in my being here in 
the identical city named at the head of this sheet. It seems to 
me like a dream, but here I am ; and I take this opportunity to 
fulfil a promise made to you before leaving the United Statpc. 



128 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



I have seen the scenes made familiar to me by that immortal pro- 
duction, witnessed in my early days, of "Tom and Jerry, or Life 
in London." Temple Bar by moonlight; Tattersalls ; Burlington 
Arcade ; Rotten Row ; St. Giles's — have each and all of them been 
visited by me. Little did I think, when I was enacting Jemmy 
Green, that I should one day stand upon the pavement of the lo- 
calities rendered classic by the great burletta, once so popular in 
all the theatres of America. I thought I had a tolerable idea of 
the great Babylon, London, before I had seen it. I was mistaken. 
The reality is as "Ossa to a wart," compared to my conception of 
its extent. I have been to the Abbey and to the Tower. Two 
important events of my life rushed upon my mind when in the 
Tower ; — one, the first time I saw Booth as Richard ; the second, 
on an after occasion, at the instigation of the said Booth, whose 
personation of the crook-back'd tyrant so impressed me with the 
reality of my doings that I dreamed the same night of being 
executed for the crime. 

I have no doubt I murdered the murderers of the royal 
babes ; for in those days, although I thought myself no small po- 
tatoes in small tragedy parts, the manager and my friends had 
opinions on the subject no ways coinciding with my own. I have 
not yet played, as I am to have a new piece written for my 
first appearance. I wish you were here to take some local 
hints and put them on the track for me. There are clever play- 
wrights enough here, but they do not understand the nice points 
of Yankee character. I like the appearance of things well, and I 
think I shall have fair play. 



You know I never could write long letters, and I suppose you 
will see by the papers what they think of me when they have seen 
me. I will send all to you, whether I hit or miss. It's more of 
a job than I thought for when I started ; but I am in for it, and 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 129 

for the honor of Yankee land, I will put my best foot foremost 
the first time I have the opportunity of making my public bow to 
John Bull. 

London, November 8 th, 1836. 

My Dear ***** — I have played in London, upon the great 
stage of Drury Lane, in a new piece written for me by Barnard — 
" The Yankee Pedlar." It is a touch-and-go sort of affair, and I 
believe I hit them. I should much rather have played in an old 
part. The Pedlar, as written, gives them not the best idea of 
an honest Yankee boy. However, I contrived to give them a 
little of the spice of other parts in the ad libitum business. 

I felt famous for the occasion, and the notices in the papers I 
send you are of value to me, as I did not write them myself, nor 
procure their insertion. 

Bunn, the manager of Drury Lane, is a queer fish. He has of- 
fered me terms. I am as yet undecided about accepting them. 

Other establishments have also made me offers which I shall 
consider. You know there is none with a greater love for his 
own country, and the things it contains, than I have ; and the 
sights I see in and out of the house do not in the least change my 
affection for the land of my birth. I am a good democrat, and 
glory in a Kepublican form of government ; therefore you will be- 
lieve me that, in spite of some preconceived notions not in favor 
of John Bull, I think from what I have seen that Englishmen are 
ahead of Jonathan in many matters that Americans do not 
fairly " acknowledge the corn" about. 

I am happy that I am an American, and not less so that I de- 
scended, in common with our countrymen, from the sires who 
came from the " fast-anchored isle." 

I send you one of the first sovereigns the Yankee received from 
a London theatre, for making a British audience laugh at the 
Yankee's comics. 



130 PICTORIAL LITE OF 



They don't take all the Yankeeisms as readily as my audiences 
in the States do ; therefore, without incurring too strong a charge 
of conceit, I take some of the applause as due to my talents as a 
comedian, apart from the peculiarity of character I represent. 

This is a compliment I feel and appreciate. I have seen some 
fine acting here, and some as bad as I ever witnessed at the Bow- 
ery in its bloodiest times. 

I am a little ashamed of some of my American friends, who, 
when at home, denounce all things aristocratical, but here toady 
their tailor and their bootmaker, to get a squint at patterns of 
noblemen's coats and pantaloons, or a sight of their person when 
undergoing the operation of being measured for the garments al- 
luded to ; and such a splutter and fuss as they make to get into a 
club, or to dine with any of the nobility, would be awful to think 
of at home, particularly about election times, when everybody is so 
democratic, and have such a " mess" of feelings for the dear people. 

I received some kind attention from an English gentleman 
which came to the knowledge of a certain big-feeling trader, from 
Boston, that we know of. It galled him terribly, as he had been 
disposed to cut me ; but when he heard of my being " patron- 
ized" by one who was somebody in London, he was anxious to 
renew an acquaintance hitherto not thought worth acknowledg- 
ing. But, Jo, it was no go. I shall have more to say hereafter. 

I know you do not expect from me notices of the lions of 
London. It is not in my way, and you will find them in the 
papers. 

It is fun for a Yankee to look on and see the crowds of 
people moving about with apparently nothing to do, and ima- 
gine what becomes of them all at night, and where they all 
get their fodder. 

As I stroll about, and see how some things are done, I feel 
the Yankee stick out all over, and I want some of our no- 
tions to dicker with John Bull traders. Crime and rascality 
are as plenty here as anywhere ; but Englishmen, as a body 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 131 

have large hearts, and generally when they take you by the 
hand, and say they are glad to see you, they mean it. There 
is not that eternal ghost of trade haunting them, and obtru- 
ding the unsocial question of, " How much can I get out of 
this fellow ?" at every new introduction, as there is too often 
with us. Their traders are as shrewd as any in the world — 
their merchants sagacious; but they appear to deal with a 
customer honestly, and consider the inducements to trade are 
made as matters of honor. 

I am not sure that John Bull don't worship the almighty 
dollar as much as Jonathan, and value it as highly ; but he 
seems less anxions to get it unfairly, and is not so tenacious 
of it when obtained. He appears to rejoice in circulation. 

I saw a man making shoes yesterday, sticking in iron nails. 
I wished then for Yankee shoe-pegs made of wood. The man 
laughed at me when I told him how many bushels of them 
we used in America. 

A great many things strike me oddly. Buxom landladies ; 
stuck-up, lazy waiters ; the green trunks I see at the hotels ; and 
the manner of making out bills ; yet, I must say, I don't really 
feel that I am in a foreign land, nor am I. John Bull's chil- 
dren here — many of them — are proud of their relationship with 
Jonathan, and take pains to show it on all proper occasions. 

I send you some papers, and conclude with best wishes, 

Geo. H. Hill. 

The tone of the press was highly nattering to Mr. 
Hill's exertions in London. He played engagements in 
Scotland and Ireland, earning an honest reputation as a 
comedian of great merit. His social qualities made him 
a favorite, and many parties were given for the purpose 
of introducing him to the hospitality of a people capa- 
ble of discovering genius in any department of litera- 



132 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 

ture or art, and willing to appreciate excellence, with- 
out any reference to local origin. 

In the spring of 1837 he embarked for home, leaving 
Liverpool in the packet ship " United States. 

Soon after his arrival in New York he was engaged 
at the Park theatre. He made his debut as Hiram 
Dodge, in the Yankee Pedlar. This engagement was 
eminently successful, at the close of which he visited 
the south and west — playing at the principal theatres of 
the different cities pleasant and profitable engagements. 




HIRAM DODGE, 
In "The Yankee Peddler." 

I rather guess this Letter is calculated to get me a Licking. 



- 



GEOBGE HANDEL HILL 133 



CHAPTEK XIY. 

" There is no speculation in those eyes," 
" Trade— cl— n trade !" 

I eesolVe to devote a few pages of my life to my 
speculations. I do not mean theatrical ones, for, with 
all my versatility in financial matters, I can truly say 
that a serious idea of management never entered into 
my money-making calculations. I never had any parti- 
cular desire to speculate in the management of a theatre. 
I have often given entertainments, concerts, lectures, 
&c, and engaged assistants. Sometimes the operation 
resulted in a loss. 

But I have engaged in land speculations and in water 
speculations. I have paid money, and given obliga- 
tions to pay more, for property upon which I was to 
realize some day enormous profits. It is needless to 
add, perhaps, that I never realized anything — principal 
invested, interest, or property in any of these money- 
making sehemes. 

I think actors in general are bad financiers, and, ac- 
cording to my retrospective views in this relation, I 
must have been one of the worst among the bad. When 
I have had in my possession any considerable sum of 
money, I was ready to purchase anything that was of- 
fered to my notice. Some persons, whose business it 
was to take advantage of the stranger, learning my 
weakness, have profited more than once by their know- 



134 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 

ledge. In this way I have had possession of property 
for which I had no nse whatever, and have been obliged 
to dispose of it at great sacrifices, often to the original 
owner. 

My speculations in Rochester, before my marriage, 
were of this kind. I remember buying a cow and calf, 
said to be of a high order of cattle. I gave a watch and 
ten dollars — all the money I had in the world — for the 
two specimens of horned cattle. 

The man of whom I purchased these brutes was the 
most deaconish looking individual I ever saw. 

' On a Saturday night the man asked me, " If I didn't 
want a good cow and calf?" 

I enquired his price for them. He said, " Thirty dol- 
lars, but they were worth forty if they were worth a 
cent," according to his estimate and story. I had no 
more notion of the value of a cow and calf, or the marks 
of a good milker, than I had of calculating eclipses. 
But the Yankee drover succeeded in getting my watch 
and money, leaving the cattle in the road, under my di- 
rection — the ownership thereof vested in me. 

For a short time I was elated with my cow and calf. 
I had no place to keep them, and I did not really know 
what to do. I, however, obtained permission of a neigh- 
bor to put them in his yard until Monday, when I was 
to sell them and double my money, according to the 
drover's story. He said he could do it, but he had re- 
ceived news that his wife was sick, and he could not 
stay long enough to sell them, on that account. 

I believed his story, wife and all. That night my 
visions were stored with droves of cattle, pastures, mo- 
ney, farms, and all the items of agricultural life. On 



GEORGE flANDEL HILL. 135 



Monday I tried to sell my cow, who had played various 
antics in my neighbor's enclosure — -jumping walls, and 
refusing to perform any of the duties expected of a 
cow. 

Every time the calf approached the cow she kicked 
and ran away, threatening fences, pumps, and trees 
with summary vengeance. 

I asked the farmer what he thought was the reason 
the cow would not let the calf come near her ? 

" Why," says he, " George, you have got awfully 
taken in in that ere cow of your'n." 

" How so ?" says I; " she looks like a good one. The 
man of whom I bought her said she felt a little bad 
about her calf because it was her first one." 

" Why, that cow is farrow. That aint her calf no 
more than it's mine ; she hain't had a calf for twenty 
years. He's borrowed that calf somewhere to sell the 
cow." 

I never told any one how much I realized on the sale 
of that cow and calf, and I never intend to tell. I have 
made speculations since that time, but it seems gene- 
rally my destiny in trade to get the " farrow cow." 

For my professional services I have always been well 
paid. At one time, while in New Orleans, with a good 
balance in my banker's hands, and a considerable sum 
in my pocket, some gentlemen called my attention to 
the sale of a valuable estate in Mobile. According to 
the plans of the estate, here were houses and lands 
which the present proprietor would on no account part 
with but for his necessities. I had seen the property, 
and almost every person said there was no risk in this. 
After some time spent in negotiation, I became the 



136 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



purchaser, and had several thousand dollars invested in 
the State of Alabama. I began to calculate on the 
chances, one day or other, of owning a piece of .eal es- 
tate in every State of the Union in which my profes- 
sional duties would require a sojourn for a greater or 
less time, and in some one of which, after having accu- 
mulated a competency, I was to spend the remainder of 
my life in retirement and elegant ease — looking upon 
the panoramic actions of my contemporaries with dignity 
and critical interest. 

After some time indulging in these dreams of the fu- 
ture, and often estimating how much richer I had grown 
already by the rise in my newly acquired property, 
another check to "proud ambition" came in the shape 
of a lawyer's letter from Mobile, giving me the pleasing 
intelligence that a claim had been presented which, if 
sustained, would deprive me of my property in that city. 
My title was defective ; some Spanish claim must be 
satisfied, and my attention to the subject earnestly re- 
quested by my legal correspondent. 

Mr. Brown, a shrewd man, and a friend of mine, ad- 
vised me to let the purchase alone for the present. He 
said it was valuable property, but he thought there 
must be something wrong about it, else the man would 
not be so anxious for me to buy. 

I repeated Mr. Brown's opinion to others, and one 
who was interested in the sale told me in confidence, the 
reason of Brown's advice — being nothing more nor less 
than that he wished to purchase the estate himself, and 
was only waiting to collect the amount required. I be- 
lieved this man, and rejected the honest advice of my 
friend Brown. 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 137 

This, in the end, was a heavier loss than the Roches- 
ter cow bargain. 

Another land speculation in Mississippi, will serve to 
warn my brother actors against buying any kind of pro- 
perty until they are perfectly sure of a safe investment. 

I have no recollection of the number of the township, 
for when I was interested, the town had no name. It 
has since been christened, I have no doubt. 

In some townships, however, I purchased by depu- 
ties, and in partnership with the deputy, a number ot 
lots of land. I furnished the ready money, and my 
partner gave his notes for the amount of half the price 
of the purchase money. 

I had no sooner obtained what I supposed to be the 
fee of this land, when I was offered a large advance 
upon the sum given ; and I was rather inclined to sell, 
if it was only for the purpose of once realizing some- 
thing " on a trade." 

My partner objected, and I left the affair in his hands 
to manage for our mutual benefit. When I inform the 
friendly reader, that to this time I have not learned the 
name of the settlement in which my building lots were 
located, he will not expect of me any account of the im- 
provements going on in that quarter, or how much I 
realised out of my land speculation in Mississippi ; but 
will most likely class it with my first Rochester specu- 
lation in live beef and veal. 



138 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



CHAPTER XY. 

" My thoughts and wishes bend again toward France." 

" Home, home — home, sweet home ; 
There's no place like home." 

MR. HILL'S SECOND TRIP TO ENGLAND — HE VISITS FRANCE — GIVES AN 
ENTERTAINMENT IN PARIS — RETURN. 

In the winter of 1837 and '38, Mr. Hill's health be- 
came impaired, and he imagined that his disease was an 
" affection of the heart." This idea, with its conse- 
quences, so depressed his spirits, as to have a sensible 
effect on his business arrangements. He determined, 
by the advice of his physician, to again visit Europe ; 
and on the 26th of May he sailed in the packet-ship 
" Sheffield." 

Previous to his leaving New York, he had prepared 
nimself with elegantly bound blank books, numbered, 
ruled, and lettered, for the purpose of recording his do- 
ings. One he called his " diary," with columns for 
putting down the beats of his pulse at certain hours of 
the day, his regimen, diet, &c, with a view to ascertain 
the progress of his " heart disease." 

The entries were spare ; although some of them show 
that the sea-breeze had a good effect upon his appetite, 
and some amusing entries testify to the improvement of 
his mind upon the subject of disease. From this source 
we learn, that shortly after his arrival in Liverpool, he 
proceeded to London, and played for two months at the 
Haymarket in a piece called M E"ew Notions," persona- 
ting its hero, Major Enoch Wheeler. In the month 






GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 139 

of December following, Mr. Hill visited Paris, and took 
lodgings at a hotel where the attendants were unable to 
speak a word of English, although frequented much by 
English and American travellers. 

At this hotel a New England gentleman, possessed of 
more money than brains, lodged. He was well known 
in Paris and at home as one of the " spooney tribe." In 
consequence of his affectation and ludicrous illustrations 
of high breeding, he was often made the laughing-stock 
of his countrymen. 

He pretended to forget the English language, and, 
when in conversation with Americans, this particular 
feature of his foreign education stood out boldly. 

Hill had been introduced to him in Boston ; and 
when, among strangers, meeting this scion of New Eng- 
land nobility in Paris, for the first time, Hill hastened 
to make himself known, expecting a courteous recep- 
tion, and an hour's pleasant conversation upon matters 
and things at home, and in a language familiar to 
both. Hill was not aware of his peculiar failings at the 
time. 

".Good morning, Mr. ," said Hill; "I am de- 
lighted to see you," offering him his hand. 

The exquisite stepped back, and looked at Hill. 

" Ah ! I declare I don't know you ; that is, since I've 
been in Paris I forgot the — what is the word in English ? 
— a la mode de Angletaire." 

HILL. 

" Oh, look here, Mr. , since I have been in Paris 

I have forgot something too ; but I have not forgot you, 
nor your former associations in Boston." 

EXQUISITE GENTLEMAN. 

Sir, parlais Francais. Je vous invite.** 



140 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



HILL. 

Javoy voo — what you like. I am not ashamed to 
talk to a countryman in plain, homespun English. If 
you do not know me, I will tell you who I am." 

EXQUISITE GFNTLEMAN. 

" Sare, you are Monsieur Hill ; but it is true I forgot 
my own language, truly, and I cannot parlez Anglais." 

HTLL. 

" You are a spooney. I don't want to know you ; 
but if I meet you with any of my countrymen, and you 
come the "pally voo" too strong, I will just talk off the 
sign that used to be over your father's door in Ann 

street." 

EXQUISITE GENTLEMAN. 

" Look here, Mr. Hill, I didn't mean any harm." 

HILL. 

" It's no consequence. I shall take care to publish 
your puppyism ; and if you are a specimen of a Yankee 
in Paris, I don't wish to parleyvoo, squattivoo, cattivoo, 
walkivoo, talkivoo, with you, any longervoo." 

Hill left him to find a more cordial reception from 
another Bostonian, who had discovered Hill, and w«s 
crossing the street with smiles indicating his happiness 
to meet him, and in plain English welcomed him to 
Paris. 

Hill determined, as the Yankee phrase is, to "come 
up" with this distinguished Boston Frenchman ; and the 
next morning when the old servant came into Hill's 
room to answer a summons, Hill enquired why the ser- 
vants did not reply to the English and Americans in 
the English language. The old servant, who was a sort 
of head waiter, replied, that there was nobody in the 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 141 

house but the " inaitre d' hotel" who could speak Eng- 
lish. 

" Well," said Hill, " I will teach you a few words to 
begin, and they are what every Englishman and Ameri- 
can expects you to say to him when he wants anything 
done. Now, when Mr. — ■ — comes in here — you know 
him well — he is delighted to be addressed in English by 
a Frenchman. You know him ?" 

OLD SERVANT. 

" Oui, oui ; tres bien." 

Hill gave his directions, and the reader, at his option, 
can translate this version in English into French, at his 
or her leisure. 

HILL. 

" When he comes and asks you, for instance, to clean 
his coat, or to give him some wine, what should you say 
in English ?" 

OLD SERVANT. 

Shakes his head. " ISTon, non." 

HILL. 

" Well, say, Go to blazes, and snap your thumb and 
finger at him thus." 

Hill snaps his finger in illustration, and says, " that 
means the same as to say, " Qui, Monsieur." 

HDLL. 

" JSTow imagine that I am he. ' Garcon, clean my 
coat.'" 

OLD SERVANT. 

" ' Go to de blaze,' and den I do so. ' Ah, ha,' snap- 
ping his finger, ' ah, ha, oui, Monsieur.' " 

HILL. 

" If you do this well, Mr. will be so pleased he 

will give you a handful of francs." 



142 



PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



OLD SERVANT. 

" Go to de blaze — ah, ha ;" and away went the old 
Frenchman to practise his first lesson in the English 
language. 

"When he had reached the hall he began to instruct 
the rest of his fellows in the new English reply to a 
gentleman's request ; and they were repeating to each 
other, after different forms, " Go to blazes," with the ap- 
propriate accompanying action, varied according to the 
taste of the pupil. 

In a day or two, Hill's friend from Boston entered the 
reading room of the hotel. There were many English 
and Americans present at the time. He had the mis- 
fortune to slip down in the street, and his coat bore evi- 
dence of a collision with the pavement. His hat had 
got a crushing ; and, as he came in, the side laughs and 
winks were not a few, and the jokes at his expense quite 
numerous. 

But, as they were spoken in good English, he did not 
understand them, or, at least, did not notice them. 

He beckoned to the old servant to take his hat. 

" Ah, ha," said he, " this is the gentleman to give me 
the francs." 

After bowing, with great politeness, he said, "Go to 
blazes ;" then, snapping his finger, as taught by Hill, 
he assumed a very grave appearance. 

The response and the act nearly convulsed with laugh- 
ter the listeners who were not up to the " sell" at all. 

Mr. looked indignant. The old servant had 

taken the hat, but did not offer to clean it. 

Mr. then asked another servant to brush his coat, 

when the fellow, with the same polite preliminaries and 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 14:3 

grave conclusions, repeated, " Go to de blaze," which 
caused another shout and roar from the listening Ame- 
ricans. 

Mr. began to suspect some trick ; and, finding 

few words of English, and those not selected with a 
view to classic style, proposed to fight the person, who- 
ever he might be, that had thus insulted him. 

Hill stepped out from the crowd, and acknowledged 
his share in the entertainment. 

Mr. retreated, giving Hill to understand that 

he should speedily hear from him. 
• Somebody asked Hill if he was a good shot with the 
pistol ? Hill said, " No ; but if he challenges me, I 
shall have the choice of weapons, and though he may 
be better acquainted with the weapons I choose than 1 
am, still I will stand my hand with him if he does gi^e 
me a chance." 

"I will be your friend," said a gentlemen, "for J 
should really like to see you take the conceit out of him. 
He says he is a first-rate shot, and has killed two or 
three men in America." 

" Killed men !" said Hill ; " well, I will show you 
how he did it then." 

It was not long, however, before the distinguished 

'Mr. sent a friend to Hill, with a polite invitation 

to meet him the following day at the usual place for 
such meetings. 

They arranged that Mr. should bring pistols if 

he pleased ; but that Hill should choose his weapons, 
and would decide at the place selected that particular 
item in the matter, as well as some slighter contingen- 
cies. 



144 PICTORIAL LITE OF 



The day arrived, and, with it, all parties were on the 
spot at the appointed hour. In addition to the two 
Mends and the surgeon, was a small party who were to 
see the denouement on the sly, and to be in at the death, 
if any kind of death occurred. 

Hill declined pistols ; and when the ground was mea- 
sured, the two principals were requested to take their 
position. Among the baggage brought on this occasion, 
was a box and two baskets, carefully covered. 

One basket was placed near to where Hill stood ; the 
other near to where his opponent was displaying his 
dignified unconcern of all that was passing. 

From the box, an iron, known as a tailor's goose, was 
handed to Mr. , and another to Hill. 

The distinguished gentleman threw his upon the 
ground in a rage, and was making off. 

" Stop," said Hill ; " all fair. This is a weapon, and 
my choice. If you don't fight with this, you are a cow- 
ard, and I will post you as such." 

It was decided by the friends, that a tailor's goose 
was not a weapon in the sense of the word as contem 
plated by the rules of duelling. 

" Well," said Hill, " what's the use of rights or pri- 
vileges if you cannot use them ? I never fought with 
a tailor's goose no more than he has. It is as fair 
for, one as the other. He wants satisfaction, and I 
must give it to him in my own way, or not at all." 

It was decided not to be correct by the friends, 
who said they were open to any new choice of wea- 
pons on the part of Mr. Hill. 

He requested the friends to open the basket. They 
did so. 






■ 




NATHAN TUCKER, 

In "Wife for a Day." 

" Well, I swow, if I had such a Wife, I'd stand for Congress, right oiTV 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 145 

" I will fight him with the contents of the basket, 
He is more used to them than I am ; and if he ever 
did kill anybody in America, it was with that sort of 
thing." 

Hill seized by the root a large cabbage from the 
basket. " Now, let him take one, and let us go at 
it. He is used to cabbage, and his father before him, 
who was an honest tailor, and would never have been 
ashamed either of his own language, or a fellow-coun- 
tryman in a foreign land." 

The scene that followed was ludicrous in the ex- 
treme. All parties adjourned to a splendid dinner ; 
and whenever Hill afterwards said, "Go to blazes," 
in some company, there were divers winks, aud linger 
gyrations which were enjoyed by the initiated, who 
understood the facts connected with the goose and the 
cabbage. 

Mr. Hill gave two entertainments in Paris ; and in 
March, 1839, returned to London, and brought out 
" Wife for a Day" at the Haymarket theatre. He 
played in London until September, when he left in 
the steamship " British Queen" for the United States. 



146 PICTOEIAL LIFE OF 



CHAPTER XYI. 

" Throw physic to the dogs, 
I'll none of it." 

AN ENGAGEMENT IN BOSTON, 1841 — LATE APPEARANCE — ILLNESS — MR. 

HILL RESOLVES TO LEAVE THE STAGE ENTERS AS A STUDENT IN THE 

OFFICE OF A DISTINGUISHED SURGEON IN BOSTON — MATRICULATES IN 

THE MEDICAL SCHOOL OF HARVARD UNIVERSITY PURCHASES BOOKS 

AND INSTRUMENTS OF ALL KINDS FOR THE PRACTICE OF SURGERY — 
ANECDOTES. 

Mr. Hill considered himself of an impulsive and 
excitable disposition. Those who knew him best will 
corroborate his views of his own character. 

"While playing an engagement in the Tremont the- 
atre, Boston, in 1841, he suffered from illness conse- 
quent upon anxiety and over-exertion in his endeavors 
to reach Boston in time to prevent disappointment to 
the manager and the public. Telegraphs and express 
cars were not then, as now, available in emergencies. 
Mr. Hill had missed the usual route. He determined, 
however, to come over-land from New York to Boston 
at any risk of health or expense, rather than not fulfil 
his engagement. 

The manager considered Hill's arrival in time to 
play an impossibility, and was accordingly prepared 
with a change of pieces. 

A notice had been placed in the lobbies of the the- 
atre, and outside of the ticket- office, announcing the 
non-arrival of Mr. Hill. Many went away after read- 
ing the notice, but enough remained to make a toler- 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 147 

able house ; and the performance of the " Heir at 
Law" had commenced. Just as the cue had been 
given for the entrance of Dr. Pangloss from the left 
hand of the stage, on bustled Hill from the right hand 
side, wearing an overcoat covered with mud, boots in 
like condition, and an umbrella, as it was raining 
hard. He had that moment entered the theatre by the 
stage door. 

The audience and actors were surprised at this in 
terruption, and a shower of hisses greeted his entrance. 

Hill walked down to the foot-lights, took off his cap 
and handkerchief with which it was tied upon his 
head, and with one of his peculiar looks addressed 
them. 

" Hello, what's the matter on ye ? This is the first 
time I ever got 'hissed. What's it all about, ye dar'n 
critters. ?" 

By this time the applause was deafening. The audi- 
ence had discovered the intruder to be the expected 
Hill. 

He gave them a humorous description of the cause 
of his delay, and the incidents of his journey ; and told 
them " he was willing, if they were willing, and the 
manager was willing, to put on his fixins, and do his 
best in the performance of the characters in which he 
had been announced to appear." 

" Play, play," came from all parts of the house. The 
comedy was stopped, and a light farce substituted to 
give Mr. Hill time to dress. 

Without much delay he appeared in one of his favor- 
ite parts, and never with greater effect, or more to the 
satisfaction of the audience. 



148 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 

The efforts to reach Boston in time on this occasion 
proved too much for his system, and illness followed. 
His attending physician advised a temporary retirement 
from the stage. 

The kindness with which the professional ministra- 
tions of his physician were bestowed npon Mr. Hill 
made such an impression on the patient, that a while 
after convalescence he determined also to become a 
doctor. 

Hill, after some enquiry as to the qualifications for 
obtaining a degree of Doctor of Medicine, resolved to 
enter the lists for that purpose. 

Three years' study with a respectable physician, two 
years' attendance upon the lectures of Harvard College, 
or some other equally endowed institution — or rather, 
some one with an equal number of " chairs" — would 
entitle him to an examination for a degree. 

He would be expected to pass satisfactory examina- 
tions in anatomy, physiology, chemistry, surgery, &c. 

He set resolutely about this work ; entered the office 
of Dr. Winslow Lewis as a pupil ; secured his tickets for 
the lectures ; purchased all the best books required for 
the different branches ; and provided himself with 
surgical instruments in sufficient quantities to supply 
an hospital. 

A merry class was that upon the list of which may be 
found the name of " George H. Hill." 

For a time he was punctual at the lecture rooms, and 
while thus enthusiastic, he frequently remained to ask 
questions of the professors in relation to the subjects 
upon which they had been lecturing. 

He was at this time stopping at the Tremont House ; 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 149 

and instead of the jovial, lively Hill, ready at all times 
for a merry-making — sitting long at dinner to "set the 
table in a roar" — he was metamorphosed into a sober- 
visaged student ; his companion, a book ; Paxton's or 
Wilson's Anatomy was his bed-fellow. His mouth was 
full of muscles, carotid arteries, amputating forceps, 
and the like. He seldom attended the recitations in the 
office of his instructor. He always studied the lesson of 
the day, but did not consider it important to go through 
his part at recitation. He tugged away at the nomen- 
clature of anatomy, but did not seem to comprehend 
its practical study, by any effort for this purpose, how- 
ever great. 

In his visits to the hospital he was more punctual, and 
took great delight in recapitulating to his friends the 
events of the visit ; and it was really the superlative 
alkaloid of comedy to those who understood Hill, to 
witness his efforts, having for their end to convince his 
friends that studying medicine in his case was no joke, 
but a serious reality, the results of which were to fur- 
nish him with employment when he had retired from 
the stage. 

The visits to the operating theatre of the hospital had 
a tendency to cool the ardor of the embryo doctor on 
two or three occasions. 

He had been present when some of the minor oper- 
ations were performed, and expressed great anxiety to 
witness some of the capital operations of surgery, so fre- 
quently required by the casualties of life, or the ravages 
of disease. 

One of his friends in this relation rallied him on ac- 
count of his strong sympathies. Hill declared that he 



150 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



was proof against any interference of the " milk of hu- 
man kindness," and that no amount of suffering and 
blood could make his " firm nerves to tremble." 

Without a knowledge of the fact, Hill was caught in 
the operating theatre on Saturday, when, after some 
slight affairs by the other surgeons, Dr. Warren was to 
perform one of those bold mutilations for which he is so 
famous. 

There was no ether used in surgery in the student 
days of " Yankee Hill," and some patients under the 
effects of knives and saws would make known their 
sufferings and terror by groans and cries. 

Hill took his position on the extreme rear of the seats 
appropriated to the spectators, and bore the preparatory 
steps of the operation with great composure. 

The veteran surgeon made a large and free incision, 
preparatory to a severe and tedious dissection. Hill's 
sympathies were painfully excited as the work pro- 
gressed. The man in the operating chair groaned ; 
Hill turned pale, forced a smile, and, looking at his 
watch, suddenly remembered an engagement in another 
part of the city. 

Afterward, in a hospital visit which Hill made in his 
character of medical student, the dresser had just been 
engaged in the performance of his duties upon the stump 
of a leg, which previously had been the subject of am- 
putation. The poor fellow, recognizing Hill, said," Sir, 
I should like to ask you a question." 

Hill, during the dressing, had stood at some distance 
from the bed of the sufferer. When spoken to he ap- 
proached, endeavoring, at the same time, to conceal 
his sympathy by an assumption of professional indiffer- 
ence. 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 151 

" Well, my friend," said Hill, " what do you want of 
me ?" 

" Why, Mr. Hill, you don't remember me. I brought 
you the fiddle to play on in the last act of Richard the 
Third, one night." m 

" So you did," said Hill. 

" Well, you ain't goin' to give up acting — are you ?" 

" Yes ; I think of it," said Hill. 

" You won't do for a doctor," said the man. " I 
watched you the day that they cut off my leg. That's 
gone ; I don't care for that, but my wife and children." 

" They treat you well here — don't they ?" said Hill. 

" Yes sir ; it's a great place for a poor fellow, but my 
wife and family ." 

Hill had been fumbling in his pocket. He took out 
an eagle, and gave it to the cripple. 

" There, send that to your wife, and if she does not 
wish to use it, keep it to buy yourself a wooden leg 
with. 1 ' 

A while after this, when the ardor of medicine and 
surgery had somewhat abated, Mr. Hill was playing at 
the Tremont theatre, and on the night of his benefit he 
occasionally made available what is termed a gagging 
bill. 

In su ch bills his name may be found for this night 
only as " Richard III." and parts of other tragedies and 
comic characters, not in his usual line of Yankees. 

Frequently in these parts Hill would deliver himself 
in down-east style ; particularly if anything came up 
during the performance to give him a good opportunity. 

A practical joker, as he was known to be, could not 
complain if, now and then, he was made the victim of 
this species of entertainment. 



152 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



At the conclusion of the engagement referred to, as 
an extra attraction on the night of his benefit, he had 
advertised a " solo on the flute — Hill in six characters," 
and, as a great attraction, Hill as " Bombastes Furioso," 
in very large capitals. 

Preparatory to a surprise, Hill had sent persons to 
procure as many of the poor cripples as are usually 
found lagging around the markets, railroad depots, and 
such resorts, as possible, directing them to the office of 
a young physician, just then commencing practice, with 
the stereotyped message that he would pay the doetor. 
The doctor,. at the same time, referred them to the 
stage door of the theatre, with a caution to the proper 
person, not to allow Hill to see this army of " halt and 
blind" until the moment that they should be required 
to enter with Hill as General Bombastes. 

When Hill surveyed his army of heroes, the effect 
was irresistible. Some had no arms, some one arm, 
and one poor fellow limped on one leg, aided by a 
crutch. 

Hill seemed confused and taken aback at first ; he 
soon, however, recovered himself, and, departing from 
the text, began to interrogate the individuals composing 
his army, as to the loss of their limbs, in genuine Yan- 
kee style. 

One man had upon his legs an enormous pair of fish- 
erman's boots. Hill, in consequence of this fellow 
giving an mi satisfactory reply to some question, struck 
him on the leg with his sword, and off went the man's 
leg. 

Hill was horrified, and endeavored to support the 
man from falling down. 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 153 

" You didn't hurt me, Mr. Hill. It's only the leg 
you gave rue the ten dollars towards buying. The 
cursed strap's broke," said the man, evidently enjoying 
the joke. 

It was Hill's friend of the hospital ; and it was ar- 
ranged by the doctor to pay Hill for his kindness in 
filling his office with incurables, that, in some way or 
other, Hill should meet his one-legged friend on the 
stage. 

Hill told this story with great effect among his medi- 
cal friends ; and often boasted of his amputating a leg. 
The audience were highly diverted with this operation. 

A merrier set never left the theatre than did the 
audience of that benefit night, after listening to Hill's 
closing speech — he being called before the curtain for 
that purpose at the conclusion of the musical finale of 
"Bombastes Furioso." 



154 PICTORIAL LIITS OF 



CHAPTER XVII. 

"Jarvey, Jarvey?" "Here am I your honor." 
" I don't think regimentals become me." 

THE HACKMAN'S STORY — RECRUITING SERVICE, ETC. 

In his researches after character, Mr. Hill made fre- 
quent visits to prisons, alms-houses, insane asylums, and 
similar establishments. 

On one occasion, in a pauper house, among a crowd 
of invalids who were idling about the yard, he saw 
one familiar face. He had noticed him on a former 
occasion, when the directors had made some official 
visits with their friends; after attending to their du- 
ties, as supervisors of the economy of the poor- house, 
and recommending measures for the comfort of its un- 
fortunate inmates, they were invited to a sumptous col- 
lation by the master of the establishment, with wine 
and liquor for those who wished it. Mr. Hill was a 
guest at that time. 

The person that attracted Hill's attention in the yard 
was a well-known city hackman, and during Mr. Hill's 
early visits to the city where belonged this paupers' 
home, he had often conveyed Hill to and from the the- 
atre, and other places, in his carriage. 

He was an intelligent man, but family troubles and 
misfortunes had led him to indulge in the intemperate 
use of alcohol, and finally, to make him a candidate for 
public charity, which had consigned him to the place of 
refuge in which Hill had thus encountered him. 



GEORGE HAJSTDEL HILL 155 

He had often spoken to Hill of his misfortunes, and 
Hill had frequently relieved him from temporary diffi- 
culties. 

Ten years had so changed his circumstances — so al- 
tered the position of himself and his friends — that his 
home was now the streets of the city, or the city alms- 
house. He chose the latter, and here he was. 

He observed Hill and approached him, with evident 
delight at meeting him even under these humiliating 
circumstances. 

" Mr. Hill, if you ain't afraid of shaking an old pau- 
per by the hand, I should like to shake yours,'' said he. 
" How do you do, Mr. Hill ?" 

Hill gave him his hand. " I am well. How came 
you here, Ben ?" 

" Sickness, then rum, then sickness. I'm glad to see 
you." 

" Well," said Hill, " this house looks neat and warm. 
You are comfortable here, I dare say ?" 

" Well, I live ; but it's a hard chance. The city pro- 
vides pretty well, but we don't get what's provided." 

" But your friends can give you little comforts," said 
Hill ; " they allow you that privilege, don't they — 
cigars, tobacco ?" 

" Yes, if we can get 'em ; all but rum. Now, look 
here, I don't want any rum, the Lord knows I don't ; 
but why a'nt we paupers as good right to it here, if 
our friends gives it to us, as the directors have when 
they come over here visiting. I s'pose the city pays for 
it; I don't know. I don't believe the superintendent 
does out of his own pocket — eh, Mr. Hill ? — 'cause the 
city feeds him and his family. He lives on chickens 



156 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 

and turkeys, and ducks, and woodcock, when they are 
scarce and high, and when I don't believe the mayor has 
'em on his table, every day ; I see the bones — I know 'em. 

" Well, I s'pose it's all right, and we don't expect 
chickens; but, look here — look — the other day when 
you was over here, what then— champaigne ? Well, 
wasn't it ? Didn't you drink it here ? You don't care 
for it. You've got money enough to buy it if you want 
it. Look here, I keep 'em in my pocket, these corks — 
look at 'em. Now you and I know the shape of those 
corks. 'Schroeder,' what's that— eh, Mr. Hill? Well, 
I took 'em out of the offal tub, among the chickens — 
after that feed the other day. 

" Well, now, may be them bottles was charged some- 
where as medicine for the sick ; but I tell you, the sick 
don't get champaigne here. Well, now, how is it? 
There's the corks. Look at 'em." 

He put the corks into Hill's hand. 

"These are Schroeder corks," said Hill, " and the 
brand is a good one ; but I have nothing to say as to 
who drank the wine, Ben." 

" No, Mr. Hill. Of course, you are a gentleman. 
Never tell tales out of school. I don't s'pose I should if 
Mr. Overseer had invited me to take a glass with him ; 
and I tell you what it is, Mr. Hill, before Mr. Overseer 
come here to this house, I had drink'd more of that wine 
than he ever did. He was poor when I was rich. 
When he was married he rode in my carriage with his 
wife that used to be, to the minister. He never paid me 
for that ride from that day to this. 'S'pose he's forgot 
it. Sometimes I'm a good mind to ask him for it. It's 
outlawed many a year. 



GEOEGE HANDEL HILL. 157 

" If I did ask him he'd take his revenge out of me 
somehow ; so I dar'nt. "Well, now, don't yon see he's 
rich. He lends the city money. He's got more money 
at interest than his whole salary wonld come to for 
twice the time he has been here. Now, how is it, Mr. 
Hill ? He hadn't a cent when he come. And here I 
am — eh ! 

" Well, I'll tell you, he makes it out of us paupers — ■ 
skims the pot, sells the fat, and we eat the lean meat 
and bones. I could make money here on that ground, 
and work for nothin' — don't you see? — how they work 
for no salary on city jobs and pauper houses ? One 
sells physic, one sells beef, or his partner does — eh ? — ■ 
sends over to us drugs, sour flour, and old offal meat 
for thanksgiving. Somebody pays for it first-rate. 

" I tell you, it's hard if we paupers complain. They 
call us grumblers, insubordinate, and shut us up, don't 
you see ? Makes money out of us, and lives high. I 
wish I was out of it. Too bad for an American to 
be here. Don't you see ?" 

" I am sorry for you," said Hill ; " here is a dollar for 
you. Spend it in tobacco,^ if you like." 

"Thank you, Mr. Hill. Tobacco. Somebody left a 
fund to supply us old folks with snuff and tobacco. 
Well, who can eat it ? Buy the hardest stuff they can 
find ; and we'd rather go without than use it. Don't 
you see ? Well, thank you for this. You always did 
do well by me. 

" We had one of your play-actor folks die out here a 
month or two ago, Mr. Hill. How many times I've 
seen him act in the play-house." 

" Do you remember his name ?" said Hill. 



158 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



" Eo ; they said lie did not go by his regular name. 
He didn't want for anything. One of your friends, a 
doctor, saw him here, and knew him, and after that he 
had all he wanted ; and the actors carried him away 
after he was dead, and buried him in good shape. He 
was a proud fellow, and wouldn't tell who he was till 
the doctor told him he couldn't get well." 

" Poor fellow," said Hill, " whoever he was. Well, 
Ben, I am glad to see you, and I hope some good for- 
tune may enable you to find a home elsewhere." 

" Thank ye ; don't say anything about what I've told 
you. It's true, but it don't always do to tell the truth. 
Good-bye, Mr. Hill." 

So the poor hackman joined his fellows, looked at the 
dollar he held in his hand — happy in the enjoyment of 
the little comforts it would purchase for him. 

A celebrated recruiting officer, well known for his 
success in enlisting able-bodied men for " our gallant 
army," and who was known particularly in Boston as 
Sergeant Sampson, although that was not his real name, 
once attempted the " promotion" dodge on Hill. The 
comedian, by his practical j okes, sometimes found him- 
self in an unpleasant predicament. When released, 
however, from any temporary difficulty, it was soon for- 
gotten, and he was ready for the preliminaries of ano- 
ther. 

Sergeant Sampson was celebrated for getting men for 
either horse or foot regiments at times when no other 
recruiting officer could raise them ; and also for being 
drunk more hours in a day than any other man in the 
service, of any grade. 

For this latter celebrity he had often been repri- 



GEORGE HANDEL HTLL. 159 

manded and punished by his saperiors, as the approved 
rules of discipline suggested ; but in consequence of his 
valuable services in his line, he was reinstated when an 
exigency demanded quick supplies of men. 

A handsomer man than Sergeant Sampson never 
slept under a tent ; and, when dressed in the uniform of 
the U. S. service, as he passed along the streets, he was 
" the observed of all observers." No tricks could be 
played upon him before dinner ; and the individual of 
either sex " must get up early," as the saying is, who 
could " come it" on him when he was sober. But the 
great captain, Alexander, got tipsy, and why should not 
Sergeant Sampson do the same thing ? 

Hill undertook to do what no man had yet succeeded 
in, and that was, to propose to enlist, and escape the 
fascinations of Sergeant Sampson. 

Many a young hero from Yermont and New Hamp- 
shire is now waiting for the promised promotion en- 
sured to him by Sergeant Sampson, when signing the 
papers which made him one of Uncle Sam's dragoons, 
artillerists, or infantry soldiers. 

Hill visited the rendezvous near the National theatre, 
one afternoon. Under an old-fashioned white great-coat 
was concealed the costume in which he represented 
the " Green Mountain Boy." 

Sampson was alone in the office — dignified, talk- 
ative, and "tight enough for two," to use a favorite 
expression of the Sergeant's. 

Hill stared about, read the call for soldiers, the Ser- 
geant eyeing him all the time, and smiling at the 
chance for a recruit he saw in Hill's advances. 

" Hallo," said Hill, " is that ere bird, printed in the 
picter there, an eagle, or what is it, you ?" 



160 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 

K An eagle," said the Sergeant ; " game cock bird 
too." 

" Is all this true I'm reading here," said Hill. 

" All true. Uncle Sam never tells nothing but truth, 
my fine fellow. Men of moral characters ; none others 
need apply," replied the Sergeant, 

" Yes," said Hill, who continued reading the paper 
posted on the wall. 

" The army is all teetotalers, then," said Hill. 

" Yes," said Sampson, " every man on 'em. No grog 
courage there.'' 

" Well, you are the man that hires the hands for the 
the army ?" said Hill. 

" I am. I want one more — -just such an honest look- 
ing fellow as you are. What do you say V 

"How long does it take you to l'arn the sogerin' 
trade ? I can fife to kill. I fifed for the trainers in our 
town two or three trainin' days ; but I don't want to 
be a musicianer. I want to be an officer." 

" An officer ? A smart lad like you can be an officer 
in a year — yes, a year." 

" I want to train in a light horse company, if any." 

" Certainly ; make you a dragoon, perhaps. Eather 
short for infantry.'' 

The Sergeant stood erect, and began to put on his ac- 
coutrements. Hill stared at him as he said, " So, if I 
agree to hire with you accordin' to the paper, you'll 
agree that I shall be an officer in a year — do you. Now, 
real 'arnest." 

" Sure thing. What's your name ?" 

Well, Jimie Mountain Small, or Small Mountain, 
just as you like," said Hill, with a twist of his mouth." 






GEORGE HAXDEL HILL. 161 

" I will fill up the papers. If you want any money, 
I'll lend it to you and take it out of your pay. Put on 
the uniform ; then go round with me, and I will show 
you the elephants. "What do you say ?" 

" Well," said Hill, " Til study on it a leetle. By jo- 
sey, I've a good mind to." 

" Of course, you have. Go to the theatre, to-night. 
See the fun. I will go with you." 

" Theatre ?" said Hill ; " who makes the fun there ?" 

" Hill plays to-night. I have never seen him. They 
«ay he's a funny fellow. ' Yankee Hill' they call him." 

" "Well, guess I'll go with you, and I'll sign the papers 
to-morrow." 

" Sign it now. My treat. Come, take some beer ; 
then we'll go together." 

"Beer!" said Hill, "nothin' but beer— eh? Well, 
I'm kind o' dry. I guess I will." 

A bottle of beer was opened. Hill drank a glass of 
it, and in a few moments felt himself somewhat con- 
fused ; and was disputing with the Sergeant as to leav- 
ing the office. Hill had an indistinct recollection of 
being measured, and also of having been in the presence 
of persons in uniform ; and he had not quite forgotten 
that he was to perform that evening at the theatre. 

He was conscious of signing some paper ; and in the 
keeping of two tipsy recruits, he was led into the 
street. There he was met by some person connectec'get 
with the theatre, and taken from his military friends. 
He soon recovered, and was ready to perform his 
part. 

The next day the affair obtained some circulation, 
and it reached the Sergeant's ear. When he knew his 



162 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 

recruit to be Yankee Hill, lie saw at once that a joke 
was intended, but he had Hill in his power. 

Hill's home in Boston at this time was at the Tre- 
mont House ; and at the usual dinner-hour, Sampson 
sent two men to bring the recruit to quarters. 

Hill declined to attend them. 

They said they had orders to bring him to quarters, 
as he did not report in the morning, according to agree- 
ment. Hill saw there was no alternative, and accom- 
panied the men to the rendezvous, where Sampson was 
awaiting their arrival. 

Hill, who treated the whole affair as a joke, was rather 
annoyed at the time selected for inflicting it, and, in his 
usual way, asked what it meant. 

Sergeant Sampson replied by saying, " Did you mean 
to desert, Sir ? You said you wanted to see Yankee 
Hill. I trusted to your honor, Sir ; you did not come 
back. You are my man, an United States soldier — 
under my orders ; a recruit, Sir." 

From his determined manner, Hill began to feel an- 
noyed. " Why," said he, " 1 did not enlist. Don't you 
know me ?" 

" Yes ;" and showing him the paper, " Did you write 
your name there or not ?" 

Hill looked at it with some surprise. " Yes, I did 
write it, but I must have been crazy when I did it." 
a ; "I don't know but you was. All I know is, you are 
"bound to Uncle Sam for five years, and there's no get- 
ting off." 

" We will see about that," said Hill. " I will go and 
see my lawyer." 

" Certainly, if you like, go where you please ; but re- 
port to me every morning at eight o'clock." 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 163 

Hill departed to consult his lawyer, but kept shady 
among his friends. He found that he had enlisted, and 
could only be released legally at some trouble and ex- 
pense. 

Sampson called upon him at the Tremont House. 
After some conversation Sampson said, " Hill, what led 
you to come to the rendezvous to enlist ?" 

" I had heard," said Hill, " that no man ever got 
away from you if he came into the rendezvous ; so I 
thought I would try it." 

" Well, what do you think of it now ?" 

" I think you do not want me to go into the service, 
and I am very sure I do not wish to go." 

" You'll make a good soldier. I've seen actors in 
the army — first-rate men. I could name them. But, 
Hill, find me a man in your place, and I'll let you ofi\" 

" It is a bargain," said Hill. " You have out-Yan- 
kee'd me ; but where do you get that beer from ?" 

"Secrets in all trades. When you are a recruiting 
sergeant I'll tell you some of mine." 

Hill obtained a substitute or an equivalent, and was 
released. 

He never visited Boston without calling on Sergeant 
Sampson, who always asked him, " if he would like a 
drink of beer!" 



164: PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



CHAPTEE XVIII. 

"Tell then the tale." 

" This is a gift I have — simple— simple." 

" Sir, he hath never fed of the dainties that are bred in a book ; he hath not eat 
paper, as it were ; he hath not drank ink." 

THE AUTHOR AMD THE ACTOR — THE SNUFFERS — SCENES AND CHARAC- 
TERS — GREEN MOUNTAIN BOY — NEW ENGLAND AND ITS PECULIARI- 



To portray the character of the poet, and that others 
may judge of the fame accorded to the departed one, 
selections from his works are given; letters, conver- 
sations and anecdotes, illustrate his peculiar personal 
qualities ; and they are introduced into his biography, 
that those who in life had never seen the author, may by 
these mediums become acquainted, and appreciate the 
excellence which is the theme of friendly praise. 

In thus recording an actor's excellence, this method of 
introducing the material with which he worked does not 
obtain the artistic touches of histrionic painting, 
vanished with the moment that saw the vitality of the 
conception, or leave but dim reflection upon the memo- 
ry of those who witness the efforts of genius in the dramatic 

u ^e dramatic author sketches, the actor impersonates 

ling to the dramatist's outline — the written charac- 
see my , & _ . t > . . . , 

u p always a subject for criticism as such — the acted 

, , n escapes you when the actor is no more, and ad- 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL 165 

mits perhaps of question, as rivals undertake the deline- 
ation, who best interprets the author's meaning. 

Mr. Hill excelled as an actor, in the peculiar line of 
character which he made his own. Everybody recog- 
nized his portraits to be from original sitters. 

In that difficult department of amusing entertain- 
ments, the Monologue, Mr. Hill proved the versatility 
of his talent and the comic resources always at his 
command. Frequently alone, for two or three hours he 
would excite his auditors to alternate outbursts of 
smiles and tears, and with his serio-comic description 
of scenes and character, demonstrate the power of the 
dramatic art over the human passions, unaided by the 
accompaniments of the theatre, or any adventitious 
help whatever. 

A scene once occurred in Ohio, where Hill had pre- 
pared to perform alone in the basement of a Presbyte- 
rian Church. 

.Many of the future candidates for the first office in 
the gift of the republic were in the room, while Hill 
was arranging his table and screen for the business of 
the evening ; — all were anxious to do something to help 
him, looking for a chance to see the show as a reward 
for their services. 

Hill enjoyed their activity — he remembered his days 
of boyhood, and his ways and means to obtain an .en- 
trance to the showman's forbidden temple. 

Hill asked in a loud voice if any one boy would get 
him a pair of snuffers. 

A half a dozen quick responses, " I will," settled that 
question. 

" What boy will get me a pitcher to-night," said Hill. 
" I will." " I will." Pitchers and snuffers were likely 



166 PICTOEIAL LIFE OF 

to be present in any quantity, if these juvenile furnish- 
ers were to be believed. 

Hill completed his arrangements, cleared the room 
and locked the door — he then proceeded about the 
town on business incident to his calling. 

In the evening he was doing his best, and had, as 
was frequently the case, commenced the performance 
with selections of recitations from tragic plays. 

He had moved the candles upon the table from the 
centre, and was standing in attitude, between them, 
about to begin the famous soliloquy from Macbeth — 

" Is this a dagger which I see before me ?" 

"When two boys came slowly down the passage be- 
tween the centre row of seats. Hill noticed them, but 
continued his soliloquy. 

In the mean time they both crept up to the table, and 
each laid down a pair of snuffers, which act Hill did 
not notice, but arriving at the line, 

"I see thee stilL 
And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood — " 

Both boys, struck by the cunning of the scene, ex- 
claimed at once, 

" ISTo it aint ; them's the snuffers we brought you." 
Hill's tragedy was over — the audience roared with 
laughter at the introduction of the snuffers, and the 
honest mistake of the boy, who thought Hill addressed 
them about the imagined dagger. Comicalities con- 
cluded the performance, the boys enjoying the fun in 
great glee. 

The effect of Hill's using the snuffers occasionally 
during the evening, in the way these instruments are to 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 167 

be used, was irresistible, and those who remember the 
merry twinkle of the comedian's eye, when a little 
roguish accidental fun was mixed in with the staple of a 
legitimate entertainment, will enjoy a laugh at this reci- 
tal of an incident which in itself is trivial, but sus- 
ceptible, from Hill's management of it, of the highest 
degree of mirth. 

It is often that the manner of a performance has 
more to do with success than the matter, under the 
plastic action of the comedian's art. 

The expression of Mr. Hill's acting can find no repre- 
sentation in description. Skilful painters have failed 
to embody in his portraits his peculiar expression ; — 
mere features is all that the canvass reflects ; a like- 
ness is present, but it is not life. 

Kor could he train himself so as to divest his acting 
from the impulsive character natural to himself. 

The duplicating powers of the daguerreotype, though 
often put in requisition, have never furnished a counter- 
part to himself when under the influence of the comic 
muse. 

How then will a reproduction of his humorous perform- 
ances offered to the reader's notice — convey any idea of 
»his talent, or furnish evidence of his merit as a come- 
dian. 

Those who have listened to his description of " men 
and things," will perhaps not regret here to recognise 
old acquaintances. Though deprived of their comic 
vitality, they are preserved in this form to contribute to 
their amusement. Memory must restore the perform- 
er, and enjoy the latent humor in the " talk," as they 
did while listening to the " talker." 



168 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 

SCENES FROM THE 
GREEN MOUNTAIN BOY. 

A COMEDY. 

The introductory scene of this comedy is represent- 
ed in the door-yard — according to old fashion country 
nomenclature — of a stylish inn. 

The hotel-keeper has been requested by one Mr. 
Tompkins, a rich gentleman of the town, to procure for 
him a young man from the country, as a servant, or 
male help in the house. 

Travellers have arrived, and Bill Brown, a black 
porter, is attending to their calls. 

Jedediah Homebred enters, looking about him. He 
carries a small bundle ; he is dressed in the usual style 
of boys about the farms in New England. 

JEDEDIAH. 

Well, I guess I've got tew a tavern at last, sure as 
natur ; I've come it purty well tew. I'll set down on a 
stun and rest abit, then I'll go on a piece further. {He 
sits on a stone.) 

Talk about railroads and steam stages as much as 
they like ; I rather guess it would be hard to come a 
hundred miles, clear through, cheaper than I did. I 
had twenty-five cents when I started, now let me see, 
I've got eighteen on 'em left, in fourpences. I didn't 
live very high to be sure, but I held out to git along. 
{Bill Brown, the negro, passes by Jedediah without 
noticing him.) 

Well, that's the etarnellest black looking chap I ever 
see. I never seen one only in the pictur-books ; proud 
as a peacock he was — did'nt even look on me. Well, 












^ 



?s 




JEDEDIAII HOMEBRED, 

In "The Green Mountain Boy." 

; Nothing like laming to get a feller along in these parts. I'll poke a testle grammar 



into him. 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 169 

I'm most rested ; if all's right, I'll put on a leetle fur- 
ther into the heart of the town. 

There's my grammar, and a list of hard words 
schoolmarm writ out of the dictionary. They tell me 
that nothin' will git a feller ahead in these parts 
like larnin. It's my notion if I could let out here a 
month or so, just to see fashions a leetle, I could go into 
the city, slick as grease — there comes that nigger agin ; 
I'll poke fun at him, just to let him see I ain't skeer'd 
of nobody. {Bill Brown enters.) 

Halloo, say you, when did you wash your face last ; 
can't tell, can you ? 

BILL BROWN. 

Who's you sarsen dere, you know ? 

JEDEDIAH. 

Are you a nigger ? I never see a real one, but I 
guess you be. Ar'nt ye — you ? 

BILL. 

Who's you call nigger? 

JED. 

Well, I only ask'd you. Why he's mad as a hen 
a'ready. Did your mother have any more on you % 

BILL. 

Dere child, you better keep quiet, and mind what 
you say to me, you little bushwacker ; if you am saucy 
I'll spile your profile, you mind dat now. 

JED. 

Oh, darn it all, don't git mad, Jack ; I only said so 
out of diviltry, that's all. (Aside.) No use to talk 
grammar to him. 

BILL. 

You mind dat my .name am not Jack, I is Bill Brown. 
I'm a regular rough and tumble nigga, fat and saucy, 



170 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



myself, I am ; so you better not fool your time wid me, 
or you get your mother's baby in a scrape. 

JED. 

"Well, where was you raised ? 

BELL. 

None of your white business. Dere, you go, or I'll 
plant you where you don't come up in a hurry. 

JED. 

Well, look o'here you ; perhaps you run away with 
a notion that I'm skeer'd on ye, cause you holla so. 
But darnation, if Job Sampson was here now, he'd 
make no more of thrashing you clean right strait off, 
than nothin' at all. He'd snap you like a snake if he 
heard the way you wos talking to me. He would, by 
Judas. 

BILL. 

You only just trying to breed a scab on your nose, 
you up country looking ball face. 

JED. 

Look here, I'm es good a mind to take right hold and 
pound your black hide, as ever I had to eat. I'm like 
the rest of the Yankees. I don't like to begin fightin, 
but if I once get at it, I don't mind going on with the 
job no more than nothin. I'm full of grit as an egg is 
full of meat and yaller stuff, when the dander's raised. 

BELL. 

Well, chicken, you can have a chance. 

Brown places himself in a boxing attitude. Jedediah 
is about to run away, but seeing Mr. Bnstle, the 
/hotel-keeper, who enters from the hotel, he also stands 
in an attitude of defence. Jedediah cries out : 
Come on, come on ; I'm a thrashing machine, and 

can be put in motion easy. 



GEOKGE HANDEL HILL. 171 

MR. BUSTLE. 

Here you black rascal, Bill, what are you about? Go 
in and stow away the trunks. 

BILL. 

I is going to do dat ting, massa. I say, young chick- 
en, I fixis you out next time I cotches you, or I isn't 
name Bill Brown. {Exit.) 

BUSTLE. 

{Laughing at Jedediah.) I should think this boy 
might suit my friend Tompkins. 

JED. 

Smart looking body ; I'll at him. {Aside — coming 
towards Bustle.) How d'ye do, capting; you don't 
know me, I guess. 

BUSTLE. 

!N"o, I have not that pleasure, indeed. 

JED. 

Well, I thought so. I must talk right up to this chap. 
{Aside.) Do you want to hire a hand ; guess you dew, 
don't you — you don't, do you — say ? 

BUSTLE. 

No, young man, I don't want to hire a hand. 

JED. 

Well, may-be you want more than one — eh ? 

BUSTLE. 

What's your name ? 

JED. 

Well, that was just what I was going to ask you, but 
you rather got the start on me ; however, if you'll tell 
your'n, I'll tell mine. 

BUSTLE. a 

I've been looking for you. 



172 PICTORIAL LITE OF 



JED. 

Dew tell if you have ; why I thought you didn't 
know me, squire. 

BUSTLE. 

Not exactly you, but one like you. 

JED. 

Well, I don't know, captain ; but I rather think it 
would be a leetle difficult job to find one like me. 

BUSTLE. 

Will you give me your name, or not ? 

JED. 

Now what's the use getting wrathy, captain % I like 
the looks of you ; but that eternal nigger of yours — 
I s'pose he's yours — he's an ugly serpent — he called 
me Bushwacker. I was mad enough to skin him, if you 
hadn't come. 

BUSTLE. 

If you will favor me with your name, and where you 
live, I may get a place for you ; — a friend of mine 
wants to hire a hand, as you call it. 

JED. 

Well, captain, between you and I, as for my name 
it's no great shakes, one way nor t'other. I shall suit 
your friend. Naturally, folks say, I am sharp as a 
briar, and cute as a lawyer ; besides I've been to school 
ever since a leetle afore Uncle Jonah and I fell out, and 
that's six weeks, if it is a day. I've been larnin' gram- 
mar with blue covers, and how to talk out the words 
like city folks, with their genteel sort of pernounsation. 

BUSTLE. 

He's a trump for old Tompkins. See here, my 
young friend. 

JED. 

Stop, captain, I'll let you into a leetle secret about 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL 173 

that. When I first started from home to seek my for- 
tin, the folks didn't like to have me clear out, and leave 
'em ; they always said I was a headstrong, nnruly crit- 
ter, and I s'pose I was. Mother and Uncle Jonah — 
and he was splittin' mad tew, just as I got off the stun. 
You see there's an awful big stun afore our door step, 
at the homestead. Uncle Bill and some on 'em rolled 
it down from the knoll, one 'lection day, on a bet about 
some toddy ; but that's nothin' to do with the story I'm 
telling on — well, they both on 'em, that is, mother and 
Uncle Jonah, said, Jedediah, don't you never call any- 
body your friend till you've eat a peck o' salt with 
'em ; for that city you're goin' to is a cruel wicked 
place, and they will raise ISTed with you if they can, 
them city fellers. 

BUSTLE. 

Indeed, if I should eat a peck o' salt with all the 
people I call friends, I should be pickled by this time ; 
but come, I've got a snug place in my eye for you. 

JED. 

Snug, in your eye ? If it is in your eye, it must be 
a snug place. I wish he'd ask me a leetle on the 
grammar — how many parts of speech there is, or some- 
thing about gender. I s'pose there's gals here. I say, 
captain, that's a pretty seal you've got there, shines like 
a brass kettle — chain tu. Gilt or gold, you? — looks 
expensive either way. Got a watch fastened on the 
end of it, I s'pose that's gold tu ; how much did it all 
stand you in. 

BUSTLE. 

Come in the house with me. (Zaughs.) 

JED. 

That tavern your'n, eh ? have balls in the winter, I 



174 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 

s'pose, and high times ? going to treat a feller ? well, 
yes, guess I'll go in. 

BUSTLE. 

Pass in, my new edition of grammar ; I'll write a 
note to my friend, and start you off directly. T)o you 
know what brandy is ? 

JED. 

Pass — grammar — just what I've been fishing arter. I 
wanted to get off a little larnin'. Brandy is a common 
noun, of the masculine gender, objective case, and 
governs mankind. 

BUSTLE. 

Is it? 

JED. 

Yes ; I'll prove it — rul's in the book. {Takes an 
old-fashion? d blue cover grammar, much used?) Here 
it is : — " A noun is the name of anything that exists, or 
of which we have any notion." The man that made 
this book was no slouch ; yet I don't think he figures it 
out just right, for a country grammar. Now I hold 
that brandy is an uncommon noun, up in our town ; 
it don't exist, and there a'n't many of the folks, except 
the s'lect men, that's got any notion on't either. 

BUSTLE. 

"Well done, mister — what's your name ? 

JED. 

Well, I guess I didn't tell you my name, and I don't 
know as I shall, just yet, you. 

BUSTLE. 

Come in. I'll do a good thing for you. This will be 
fun for old Joe. {Bustle enters.) 

JED. 

Well, now, if that critter a'n't laughing right out at me. 



GKOKGE HANDEL HILL. 175 

I'll eat a snake the grammar did it. I'll follow on for 
the place. If I catch that good-for-nothing lump of 
charcoal, I'll come it over him. I'll make him look 
like a black cat in a milk-pail, with the fur all the 
wrong way. (Jed goes in.) 

In this scene the stage represents the house and garden 
of Mr. Tompkins, the eccentric gentleman who is 
very fond of titles, and of the company of foreigners 
of distinction. He is expecting an English lord to 
visit him, to whom he intends to propose a marriage 
with his daughter, she having already provided her- 
self with a candidate for matrimonial election. He 
has just left his library in a passion, because his 
daughter and other members of the family oppose his 
wishes, and encounters Jedediah, who has a letter 
from Mr. Bustle, as the business of the previous scene 
has connection with this. 

TOMPKINS. 

Now I am in the air ; I can scarcely keep myself 
cool. First, that rhyming rascal puts me in a rage, 
and when I get over that, that little witch of a daugh- 
ter, with her romance and disobedience, pipes me hot 
again. Everybody opposes me — I can't have my way 
at all. {Jedediah enters and stares about the garden, not 
seeing Tompkins^ Hey, who is this ? Oh ! I suppose 
it is the countryman Bustle sent to me. I hope he 
never reads novels ; I hope he don't write poetry ; and 
I hope he is a member of the non-resistance soci« a *"«' 
He looks stupid enough. (Tompkins is walking to- 
wards the house, Jedediah sees him.) 

JEDEDIAH. 

Hallo, you. I say, capting, is this your house ? Dew 
you live here ? 



176 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



TOMPKINS. 

Yes ; this is my house ; I do live here. 

JED. 

Yes ; well, it's a purty nice looking house. It is 
what we grammar folks would call a pretty considera- 
ble, substantial substantive. I'll just edge in a little 
grammar first. (Aside.) 

TOMPKINS. 

What do you mean by substantive, sir ? 

JED. 

Well, it's a common noun, captain; it looks bran 
new. Is it new % How long has it been builded ; or 
did you kiver up the old cracks with a coat of paint in 
the spring, same as we do the meetin' 'us up our way. 
Must cost something to paint such a big house. 

TOMPKINS. 

What are you talking about ? Do you know me % 

JED. 

Well, see here, no ; but the feller that keeps the 
tavern, out here a piece, said you was in want of a 
dreadful smart young man, with all his wits about him. 
I'm the one. 

TOMPKINS. 

I do want such a young man. What may I call 
your name ? 

JED. 

Well, you may call it pretty much what you like, if 
you hire me, and we agree on wages. 

TOMPKINS. 

Well, Mr. Countryman, what can you do to make 
yourself useful to me ? 

JED. 

Look here, cap'in, guess 'bout as slick a way as we 



GEORGE HANSEL HILL. 177 

can come at it will be to give you a leetle short ac- 
count of myself. I was raised on the north side of the 
Green Mountains, half a mile t'other side of Wider 
Sinims' house, in the town of Danbury. Her house 
was on the t'other side of the road, just after you pass'd 
the Johnson meadows. A leetle further on there's a 
little yaller house. Well, our house wan't more than a 
stun's throw from this yaller one. Ours was red. 

TOMPKINS. 

1 dare say. What's your name ? 

JED. 

Well, I'll tell ye, if you'll wait a minit. 

TOMPKINS. 

Well, sir. 

.JED. 

Well, you must know father's name was Jethro, 
when he was alive ; but the old gentleman's dead ; 
yes ; he died, as near as I can remember, jist about the 
time Uncle Jonah was chosen into general court, that's 
over four years ago. I had the measles then. Yes, 
I'm right. Well, father he married Temperance Sto- 
well — that was before I was born. She was kind of 
half sister to Uncle Jonah's wife. Uncle Jonah's a 
whole team ; you ought to see him. He's a widower, 
he is, so he stays on our old place, and takes care of 
things now, and sees that mother don't want for nothin'. 
Now my old gentleman is dead. 

TOMPKINS. 

I don't want your family history. I simply want to 
know who you are. 

JED. 

Yes ; but I thought I would let you know a leetle 
about our folks. My name, you see, is Jedediah ; yes, 



178 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 

that's my given name, arter Uncle Jed. Then Jethro, 
arter dad — I always used to call him dad. Then Home- 
bred, that was the old gentleman's family name. 

TOMPKINS. 

Well, now, let's see, Jedediah, if I hire you, you must 
mind me, and nobody else. How old are you ? 

JEDEDIAH. 

Well, capting, our folks got married, as I hearn tell, 
one Thanksgiving-day night ; for I wasn't there, or if I 
was, I didn't know it ; but I've hearn father, that is, the 
old gentleman, plague mother about it most infernally. 
He used to torment her on it day and night. Some- 
thing happened — I don't know what — but it used to 
make 'em all laugh but mother, and she'd get mad and 
go right out of the room ; then father'd laugh right out, 
haw, haw, haw, and sneeze. It would do anybody good 
to hear the old man laugh when he was tickled. Well, 
I was born in the neighborhood of eleven months arter- 
wards ; and according to the natural order of things, I 
shall be about nineteen years old some time in the fall. 

TOMPKINS. 

You are sure of your age. 

JEDEDIAH. 

Oh, yes, I saw it writ down in father's big Bible. 
It used to lay on the drawers, in the best room up 
stairs, gilt all about the edges, slick one, red kivers. 
Father traded off some cider for it to a minister who 
was selling out his tools ; well, father writ in it him- 
self afore he died, close to the top of the leaf. Old 
gentleman writ a tolerable decent hand for anybody 
that didn't have no more schoolin' than he did. Well, 
there it was, first Jedediah, my first son born, then there 
was a figurey i then a o t h ; spelling, I thought that was 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 179 

fortieth, but it couldn't be ; then September, or October, 
or some ember ; but they were kind o' scratched out, — 
it was in some of the fall months, anyhow ; but things 
looked as if somebody wasn't quite sure which. 

TOMPKINS. 

If you don't talk too much, I think you may suit me. 
You have been to school, and of course can read and 

write? 

JEDEDIAH. 

Well, I guess I can ; I'm some on larnin' — I believe 
in it, tu. I got some of my book knowledge funny 
enough tu. I'll tell you how it was — there was a 
schoolmaster chap come up our way, and tried to settle 
in the town ; he bought ten bushels of mother's pota- 
toes, of Uncle Jonah — " blue noses ;" no, they warn't, 
neither, they was " long Johns ;" they grow'd down on 
the two-acre piece, t'other side of neighbor Joe's corn- 
field ; well, Uncle Jonah could never get the money 
out on him. I used to go dunnin' arter it. He was a 
clear chicken, up to all sorts of didoes. Well, he 'greed 
to larn me in the grammar, and find a book tu, to 
pay for the potatoes ; and when them ten bushels was 
larn'd out, Uncle Jonah agreed to swop off more pota- 
toes, or any kind of sarse, for more grammar — 'good 
trade, you, warn't it ? 

TOMPKINS. 

{Laughs.) I'll hire you ; but remember I am very 
particular. What I say in my house is law ; and above 
all, I am never to be contradicted — it puts me in a pasr 
sion directly. 

JEDEDIAH. 

There, I knew it. That last touch on the grammar 
done it all up nice. Well, what's the wages ? 



i80 PiCTOItlAL LIFE OF 

TOMPKINS. 

"We shan't quarrel about that, if you suit me. I 
don't mind what price I pay you. 

JEDEDIAH. 

I guess I'll risk the bargain. I'm sure to suit. Let's 
see ; how may I call your name ? 

TOMPKINS. 

Tompkins. You must say sir, when you speak to 
me; and Squire Tompkins, you must call me, when 
you speak of me. 

JEDEDIAH. 

Squire ? "Want to know if you're a squire ? 

TOMPKINS. 

Follow me into the house, and I'll find something for 
you to do. 

JEDEDIAH. 

Well, squire, I guess I will. You didn't tell me 
whether you had any children, (perhaps you a'nt mar- 
ried ?) 'cause I could larn 'em grammar at odd jobs. 
(Tompkins exits, laughing.) I'm a lucky critter. All 
I've got to do is to keep the right side of the squire. 
If he says oats grow on apple trees, I'll say so tu. I 
must try and get the hang of the women folks, inside ; 
they rule sometimes. 

(He opens his grammar.) — " Pronouns go before 
nouns." Now, how's that ? I's a pronoun ; squire's a 
common noun. Now squire went off first; how is 
that ? Let's figure on it. (Busy studying.) 

Wilkins, a fashionably-dressed adventurer, who is m 
pursuit of an heiress, representing himself to be a 
Lord, enters. 

WILKINS. 

This is the house. I think my letters must have 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 181 

strengthened the old man's good opinion of me. And 
as for the daughter, let me possess her wealth, I care not 
who takes her. {He sees Jedediah.) Oh, one of Tomp- 
kins' people, I suppose. I'll astonish him. {Jedediah 
pretends to he studying.) Here, fellow. 

JEDEDIAH. 

Hallo, you ; did you call me ? 

WILKINS. 

Who are you 1 {Eyeing him with a glass.) 

JEDEDIAH. 

I ? You mean I ? ( Wilkins assents.) I's a personal 
pronoun. 

WILKINS. 

I dare say. Who are you, here ? 

JEDEDIAH. 

Why, how de du, you ? I see you get out of the 
coach at the tavern yonder, didn't I ? — guess I did. 

WILKINS. 

An inquisitive Yankee bore. I must look out for 
him. {Aside.) I did get out of the coach, and I am 
expected here, am I not ? 

JEDEDIAH. 

I s'pose you be, if you say so. All them trunks 
yourn ? What you got in 'em all, you ? All full, eh ? 
Maybe that's a secret. 

WILKINS. 

Maybe it is. Show me to your master. 

JEDEDIAH. 

Master ! I a'nt got no master. I wouldn't allow 
the face of clay to call me on that ground. If you 
mean the squire, I'm his hired man ; but I don't know 
where he is ; s'pose I could find him. But I an't like 
some folks, knows everything, as Aunt Peg used to say 



182 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



about Uncle Zack's cow. " There, says she, " that 
eternal dumb critter knows just as well when Uncle 
Zack's taken his four o'clock, as can be, and the critter 
conies right cross lots home to milkin'." Aunt Peg is 
as smart a woman as any in the town of Chelsea, for her 
heft. She a'nt much bigger than a pint of beans ; but 
she'd lift a barrel of cider right out of the tail end of a 
cart, and make nothin' on it. Uncle Jonah says she'd 
drink a barrel empty in a leetle time, tu. 

WELKINS. 

( Who has been laughing.) Yes ; will you show me 
the way to Mr. Tompkins. 

JEDEDIAH. 

Yes, captin. I don't like the hang of this chap's coun- 
tenance. I'll twig him. (Tompkins tvithout calls 
Jedediah.) There, that's the squire's voice. (Tomp- 
kins enters.) 

WILKINS. 

Oh, my dear friend, I'm glad to see you. How is 
my charming Ellen % 

TOMPKINS. 

Oh, your lordship, I'm proud to take you by the 
hand. 

JEDEDIAH. 

Lordship ! — he a lordship ? I'm glad to see you, tu- 
Come from France, I suppose. Come a courtin' squire's 
gall, eh ? I asked him who he was, Squire, but the 
cunning critter wouldn't tell me ; don't blame him for 
it for keepin' his mouth shut up on that. I a'n't for- 
got how I used to go sneaking round old Aunt Sally's 
house arter her darter Moll. I never told you about 
Aunt Sally, squire. 

TOMPKINS. 

Stop, Jedediah. A young man I've just hired, your 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 183 

. _ % , 

lordship. "Will you walk in ? Go before, Jedediah — 
go in. 

JEDEDIAH. 

Well, I s'pose I might as well. Say, Mr. Lordship, if 
you want any chors done, or little notion, I'm slick to 
dew it. 

WILKDTS. 

Keep your distance, Bumpkin. 

JEDEDIAH. 

My distance ; yes, I will. You a lord ! — you get out 
— a lord ! Say, squire, you don't want me for nothin', 
do you — you don't, du you — you du, don't you ? I 
should like to tell you 'bout that ere cat of ourn. 
{Takes out his grammar and reads ;) " Neuter gender, 
objective case." Guess I'll try the notions of that lord. 
Cowcumbers and blue beans, if he arn't a sneaky cuss. 
I've no notion of grammar, a country schoolma'arm 
would see clean through him — yes. {As he goes into 
the house he threatens Wilhins in show.) 



LECTURE OK NEW ENGLAND. 

Who can read the simple history of the Republic oi 
North America, without emotions of the most pious re- 
verence and deep affection? With the improvements in 
modern navigation, it is now an every-day affair to see 
vessels that have traversed the widest seas ; but think of 
things as they were then, the vague ideas of this " wilder- 
ness world," its savage inhabitants, and its beasts of prey, 
that were the horrors of the nursery, as are those now of 



13 4: PICTORIAL LITE OF 



Africa and Australasia, and you can form some concep- 
tion of the feelings of fathers and their families, on exil- 
ing themselves from home, and all that was dear on 
earth, save their soared faith / that, like St. John in the 
Isle of Patmos, they might find some ritual in a distant 
wild. Our forefathers came to these shores under 
convoy of no naval armament ; they brought no trophies 
of glory : they were not attended with the pomp and 
pageantry of the military adventurer, but with the 
" simple scrip and staff of the pilgrim ;" unlike the 
founders of ancient Rome, they were not a set of outlaws 
and fugitive /k^zis, but a company of Christian brethren, 
with their wives and children, led on by no grovelling 
cupidity or worldly ambition, but by unfaltering de- 
votion and faith. With such an ancestry and history, 
with institutions calculated to develop the highest dignity 
of character, with a country possessing every thing in 
the physical and moral world, to enlarge the mind, what 
will be the ultimate bound of our attainments as a 
people ? 

A few days since, as I stood upon the top of yonder 
capital, the crown of this goodly city, gazing upon the 
picturesque panorama of which it is the centre, its hive 
of human habitations, its spires, its streets teeming with 
a countless and stirring multitude, its hum of business, 
its wharves and shipping, its green common and droop- 
ing elms, the only remnants of verdure's former realm, 
its bay gemmed with islands and whitened with sails, 
expanding into the ocean ; and when 1 turned to the 
numerous villages, in every direction, clustering around 
their churches, like flocks around their shepherds ; the 
different rail-roads with their trains, like some fabled 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 185 

monsters, exhaling smoke and fire, and apparently per- 
forating hills, and flying over valleys, the naval citadel 
bearing that flag which, though unfurled but a few 
years ago, is now respected in every sea, — I was lost in 
rapture, as my mind pictured the probable scene but 
two centuries ago. On the height where this building 
is based, has the Indian hunter paused awhile, to con- 
template this picture of nature ; and could he have ex- 
pressed himself in the language of the poet, he would 
have exclaimed, 

U I am monarch of all I survey 1" 

Where stands this proud and noble city, was then an 
unbroken forest, with here and there a thin wreath of 
smoke, betraying the nestling wigwam y the partridge 
led the young, where now the Christian mother watches 
the gambols of her children — the beautiful fawn sported 
where the artless girl winds her way to school, and the 
cooing pair built their little home in the branches 
beneath which bashful love now woos and wins the fair 
and 2?u?'e. Where the thrush made the common "air 
most musical," now swells the pealing anthem of the 
choir and the organ ; the church-bell tolls the knell of 
every parting hour where the screams of the panther, 
and the howl of the wolf, once alarmed the ear of night ; 
where the eloquence of Webster, Everett, Choate, and 
Bancroft, are like household tones, was then heard the 
harangue of some aboriginal orator ; the bay which now 
bears the steamer and the ship, was then unrippled save 
by the light canoe and the " black duck with her glossy 
breast swinging silently" on the glassy heaving surge. 
Alas, for the poor red man I He has gone with his 



186 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 

game to the fair hunting-grounds of the West ; his last 
arrow is spent ; his bow is broken ; the hand that twang- 
ed its string has forgotten its cunning. A new race and 
a new scene have sprung up as by some strange miracle. 
If so short a time has made so vast an alteration, what 
will it be two centuries hence ? it is not in the power of 
man to foretell ; may each generation advance the em- 
bellishment and refinement of this Athens of America, 
and its greatness be as enduring as the Acropolis. The 
true greatness of a state has been justly said to consist 
in the character of its people. 

Men, high-minded men, 
"With powers as far above dull brutes endued 

In forest, brake, or den, 
As beasts excel cold rocks and brambles rude : 

Men who their duties know, 
But know their rights, and knowing, dare maintain, 

Present the long-aimed blow, 
And crush the tyrant while they rend the chain — 

These constitute a State. 

Though New England cannot boast of rich planta- 
tions, and gangs of laborers producing vast crops of 
cotton, corn, and rice, of inexhaustible mines and rich 
prairies, waving like lakes of verdure, nor of many fields 
glistening with the golden wheat, yet, like the mother 
of the Gracchii, she can point to her children and say, 
" These are my jewels''' — " here is my wealth." Can 
you show me those who are fairer, braver, or smarter 
than these ? 

"When asked by Madame de Stael, " Who is the 
greatest woman in the empire ?" Napoleon is said to 
have replied, "She who is the mother of the most 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 187 

children." If this be true, New England will be apt to 
bear oft' the palm, for this is her great staple of produce, 
and in its quantity she can vie with any other mother 
in the world, not excepting Ireland, to say nothing of 
its quality. She can point you also to her battle-fields, 
and the graves of those who have fallen on the field, or 
the deck, or have devoted their interests, their wealth, 
and their lives, to the good of their race and their 
country. She will show you her churches, her colleges, 
her school-houses, her benevolent associations, her marts, 
villages, and hamlets, her neat farms, where art and 
industry are triumphing over nature, her factories, 
foimderies, and workshops, where human ingenuity is 
contriving to lighten the load of labor, and by giving 
new value to matter, promote the comfort and refine- 
ment of man. She will there show you her slaves, of 
which it cannot be said as of the lilies, " they toil not, 
neither do they spin ;" but her right of ownership can- 
not be questioned, as they are hers by discovery — ■ 
machines of her own contrivance, and for which she 
has her patent from Washington. She will show you 
her ships, whose keels cleave every navigable sea, her 
long list of distinguished men, her enterprising and 
thorough merchants, and wherever the foot of civilized 
man has ever trod, she will show you a representative. 

Land of the forest and the rock, 
Of dark blue lake and mighty river, 
Of mountains rear'd aloft to mock 
The storm's career, the lightning's shock, 
My own green land for ever. 

Land of the beautiful and brave, 

The freeman's home, the martyr's grave, 



188 ■ PICTORIAL LITE OF 



The nursery of giant men, 

Whose deeds have linked with every glen, 

And every hill, and every stream, 

The romance of some warrior dream ; 

Oh, never may a son of thine, 

"Where'er his wandering steps incline, 

Forget the sky which bent above 

His childhood, like a dream of love, 

The stream beneath the green hill glowing, 

The broad-armed trees above it growing, 

Or hear unmoved the taunt of scorn, 

Breathed o'er the hrave New England born. 

There is no one concerning whom there have been 
such conflicting opinions as the native of this region ; 
he has been compared to the Scotchman, whom he re- 
sembles in many particulars, bnt mingled with these 
some qualities of the Englishmen, and more that are 
peculiarly his own. He can truly be called an original. 
This is manifested not only in his own inventive genius, 
but in his individuality as a man. Wherever you be- 
hold him there is something about him different from 
those of other origin. It is not fair to judge him by 
other men, for he is sui generis. If the Yirginian excels 
as an advocate, the New Englander is distinguished as 
a counsellor. He is the founder of new States and the 
framer of their laws. As a public speaker, he is more 
remarkable for sound argument than a playfal fancy. 
He is more distinguished as a profound statesman than 
a mere politician, and makes Demosthenes, rather than 
Cicero, his model. When those from other sections are 
apt to act in concert, in the councils of the nation, you 
find him consulting his own conscience, and acting ac- 
cordingly, regardless of immediate consequences. In 
sarcasm, he has been unsurpassed, but his favorite 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL 189 

weapon is the sledge-hammer, rather than the rapier ; 
though equable and cool in temper, when once aroused, 
he is like a lion at hay. He has been reproached with 
a want of imagination, yet he has the honor to claim a 
large majority of our national poets, and among them 
those who, at home and abroad, have held the highest 
rank. As a philosopher, he believes in that individual 
freedom " which protects itself against the usurpations 
of society; which does not cower to human opinion; 
which feels itself accountable to a higher tribunal than 
man's ; which respects a higher law than fashion ; which 
respects itself too much to be the slave or tool of the 
many." As an artist, he is pre-eminent in the higher 
walks of painting, architecture, and ornamental garden- 
ing. As an editor and political writer, he is unequalled. 
As a merchant, he sends his vessels all over the world, 
and owns two-thirds of the shipping of his country. He 
is a first-rate financier, and banks and insurance com- 
panies under his direction are apt to preserve their 
solvency, and give good dividends when others are 
bankrupt. In the language of Chevalier, at the north 
or the south, in the east as well as the west, he is a true 
Marquis of Carrabas. At Baltimore, as well as at Boston, 
in New Orleans as well as at Salem, in New York as 
well as at Portland, if a merchant is mentioned who has 
made — and kept, by-the-bye a very difficult part of it — 
a large fortune by sagacity and forecast, you will find 
that he is a Yankee. He will leave his country for the 
East or West Indies, and after several years absence, 
return to his native land, erect a splendid villa on the 
site of the old homestead, or select some wooded eminence 
for his new mansion, and ere long the desert smiles like 



190 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 

" Araby trie blest." As a manufacturer, he was the 
first to prosecute the business successfully, and has more 
capital invested in this branch of industry, than all those 
from other parts of his country together. As a mechanic, 
he is constantly studying to save labor and money. He 
was the first to suggest to Fulton the idea of steam 
navigation, and the first to succeed in propelling vessels 
in this way. He was .the inventor of the cotton-gin, 
which has done more for the culture of cotton, and con- 
sequent wealth of the South, than all else together ; to 
use the language of the popular author we before have 
quoted, " but for him the vast cotton plantations of the 
South would still be an uncultivated waste." He is the 
projector of neio towns and internal improvements, and 
the principal constructor on all our public works. He 
builds navies and ordnance for the Sultan of Turkey, 
war-steamers for the Autocrat of Russia, machinery for 
the Emperor of Austria, whale-boats and whaling-gear 
for the King of France, and locomotive engines for 
England, the boasted workshop of the world. He is in 
more than one sense a builder, and had he lived in the 
days of Solomon, would no doubt have been a Knight 
Templar. 

Not an acre of land is cultivated in the Union, not 
a ship floats, not an American book is read, not a meal 
eaten, an article of clothing prepared, or a bank note 
engraved in this Union, that is not more or less the pro- 
duct of Yankee labor and enterprise. As a farmer, 
he does not suffer himself to be outdone ; he not only 
invents the best ploughing, planting, mowing, raking, 
cradling, thrashing, shelling, winnowing, and grinding 
machines, but he is the best agricultural editor, and is 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 191 

pretty sure to take the premium for the fattest oxen and 
pigs, the finest cheese and butter, largest squashes and 
pumpkins, in all cattle-shows. He also displays great 
skill in subduing the wilderness, raises his log cabin at 
the Falls of St. Antony, displaces the colony of the 
beaver, to make room for his saw-mill on the Upper 
Missouri. As a sailor and a soldier, our naval and 
military history will speak in abler language than I 
can command. He was the first to cross the Atlantic 
in a steamer ; shoot seals at the South Shetlands, and 
slay the sea-elephant at Kergulan's Land ; catch cod at 
Labrador, and whale at Delago Bay ; was the first to 
discover, and as yet the only one who has ever landed 
upon the Southern polar continent. He takes a peep, 
by way of curiosity, into the maelstrom, and would, for' 
a sufficient inducement to warrant the outlay, contrive 
to solve the polar problem, and look into Symmes' Hole. 
He hails the Russian exploring expedition when re- 
joicing at the discovery of a new group of islands in the 
Antarctic Ocean, and inquires if they donH want a 
pilot t On being asked who he is, and where he is from, 
gives his name as Captain Nat. Palmer, of the sloop 
Hero of 60 tons burthen, from Stonington, Connecticut. 
The Yankee is, in short, a universal genius ; his native 
soil is remarkable for its stubborn and sterile roughness, 
and he can be compared to the oak of his own rocky 
hills ; strongly and deeply are rooted his principles and 
habits ; if he has not the grace of the Southern palmetto, 
he has more of that hardy strength which can wrestle 
with the rude storms of life. Like the young eagle 
reared on the lightning-rifted cliff, he partakes of the 
game spirit of fierce independence and aspiration, looks 



192 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



unawed upon the storms that rage around him, and 
though on soaring wing he may wander leagues away, 
he is sure to return to the nestling-place of his attach- 
ment. 

They love the land, because it is their own, 

And scorn to give the reason why ; 
A stubborn race, fearing and flattering none, 

Such are they nurtured, and such they die. 
All but a few apostates meddling 

"With merchandise, pounds, shillings, pence, and peddling, 
Or wandering through the Southern countries, teaching 

The A, B, 0, or Webster's spelling-book, 
Gallant and godly, making love, and preaching, 

And gaining, by what they call "hook and crook," 
And what moralists call over-reaching, 

A decent living. The Virginians look 
Upon them with as favorable eyes 

As Gabriel on the devil in paradise ; 
But these are but their outcasts — view them near, 

At home where all their worth and pride is placed, 
And then their hospitable fire burns clear, 

And there the lowliest farm-house hearth is graced 
With manly hearts in piety sincere. 
Faithful in love, in honor stern and chaste, 
In friendship warm and true, in danger brave — 
Beloved in fife and sainted in the grave. 

He has more of steady courage than of romantic 
chivalry and impulse. With no other patrimony than 
a trade, or an education, he early feels the pressure of 
that strongest inducement to action, stern necessity, and 
does not look for many examples in his own acquain- 
tance of self-made men to stimulate and guide him. 
He is taught in the home of frugality, that " a penny 
saved is a penny earned," and learns in his school-book 
that " tall oaks from little acorns grow." He feels the 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 193 

_ _ 

importance of gradually adding to his fund of wealth 
and knowledge; is apt before embarking in any ad- 
venture to count the cost" and is more remarkable as a 
shrewd and safe operator than an improvident specu- 
lator ; yet he has no objection to laying out his farm 
into town lots, but is rather apt to sell before there is a 
fall in the market. He possesses a great deal of common 
sense, as well as brass, and is remarkable for his general 
information. More inquisitive than communicative, and 
is celebrated for picking up knowledge by the wayside ; 
he is ever seeking something new, and how he can turn 
it to profitable account; rather reserved and suspicious, 
when appearances are not marked 0. K., but clinches 
those whom judgment has once approved with " hooks 
of steel ;" he is the true alchymist, for he possesses the 
power of converting the baser metal into gold, and the 
divining rod held in his hand is pretty sure to point out 
the hidden ore. Eegarding cash as the primum mobile, 
he acts upon the principle that there is "no friendship 
in trade," and is therefore a heen fellow at a bargain ; 
yet when he has once amassed a fortune, he richly 
endows literary and charitable institutions, and is kind 
to the poor. 

It has been our misfortune to be judged too much by 
hawking pedlers, who make the "rule of three" their 
" golden rule," and the arithmetic their creed. I once 
knew two individuals who set up in trade together in a 
western village. After looking over the ground, they 
concluded that it was best for one to join a certain 
church, the other a certain political party, and they 
turned up a copper to see which each should join. He 
has the convenient capability of adapting himself to 



194: PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



every situation, and it has been said, that if you place 
him on a rock in the midst of the ocean, with a pen- 
knife and a bundle of shingles, he would manage to 
work his way ashore. He sells salmon from Kennebec 
to the people of Charleston ; haddock, fresh, from Cape 
Cod to the planters of Matanzas, raises coffee in Cuba, 
swaps mules and horses for molasses in Porto-Rico, 
retails ice from Fresh Pond, in Cambridge, to the East 
Indians — mutton, from Brighton, at K"ew Orleans and 
South America ; and manufactures morus multicaulis 
for the Governor of Jamaica ; becomes an admiral in 
foreign navies ; starts in a cockle-shell craft of fifteen 
tons burden, loaded with onions, mackerel, and other 
notions, too numerous to mention, for Valparaiso : baits 
his traps on the Columbia River ; catches wild beasts in 
Africa, for Macomber and Co's " Grand Caravan ;" sells 
granite on contract to rebuild San Juan de Ulloa — is 
ready, like Ledyard, to start for Timbuctoo to-morrow 
morning — exiles himself for years from his home, to 
sketch in their own wilderness the " wild man of the 
woods," and astonishes refined Europe with the seeming 
presence of the untutored savage. When introduced 
to Metternich, he asks him " What's the news ?" says 
" How do you do, marm ?" to Yictoria ; and prescribes 
" Thompson's eye-water" to the mandarins of China ! 

He is found foremost among those who sway the ele- 
ments of society ; is the schoolmaster for his country, 
and missionary to the whole heathen world. 

He is unequalled in tact, and instead of travelling 
round about ways, starts " across lots" for any desired 
point. 

He has come nearer to the discovery of perpetual 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 195 

motion than any other man ; and if ever it is made, we 
guess he will be the lucky chap to do it. He is the man 
to 

Bid harbors open, public ways extend, 

Bid temples worthy of his God ascend ; 

Bid the broad arch the dangerous flood contain — 

The mote projecting, break the roaring main ; 

Back to his bounds the subject sea command, 

And roll obedient rivers through the land. 

T cannot close this lecture without addressing a few 
words to the women of New England. Her beaming 
eyes and charming smiles remain to awaken and reward 
the pulsations of patriotism ; her affection and tender- 
ness solaced and sustained the fainting pilgrim ; and in 
the days that tried men's souls, she gave confidence to 
the desponding, and energy to the weak ; her kind hand 
assuaged the sufferings of the wounded, and her bosom 
pillowed the head of the dying. 

Whether as a wife, a mother, a sister, or a friend, she 
has the strongest claims npon our affection and grati - 
tude, and holds, of social enjoyment, the golden key. 
She first implants the lessons of piety ,~and garlands our 
home with flowers of love and bliss ; she is the guardian 
angel of our lives, and guides our feet to purity and 
peace. I will not say more at this time, than that there 
is nothing which more clearly marks the degree of re- 
finement among a people than the station of " Heaven's 
last best gift ;" and we can add, that there is no part of 
the world, where, with all classes she commands the 
high respect, and exerts the influence that she does in 
New England. 



196 PICTOEIAL LIFE OF 



CHAPTER XIX. . 

" I am Sir Oracle." 
" I will have my bond." 
" The stars have said it." 
"There be players that I have seen play, and heard others praise, and that 
highly, who have so strutted and bellowed, that I have thought some of nature's 
journeymen had made men, and not made them well, they imitate humanity so abomi- 
nably." 

" Have you the Lion's part written ?" 

STARS — AND — STARS MAKING ENGAGEMENTS. 

Me. Hill in his business intercourse with managers 
was just, and never exacted exorbitant terms when 
successful; or, as is often the case, increased his de- 
mands as the attractive nature of the performances 
were lessened, from frequent exhibition, or other coun- 
teracting circumstances. 

How managers could permit themselves to be par- 
ties to such star impositions, has often been the sub- 
ject of wonder to members of starring- companies, 
and their injured creditors, who were patiently waiting 
the coming of those great events, " which leave such 
shadows behind," for the liquidation of outstanding 
balances, which were to be cancelled by the profits of 
the great feature's drawings. 

Among Mr. Hill's papers were memoranda which 
recorded his ideas of starring, as practised at some 
establishments, in a form apparently intended to be 
published in some periodical, favorable to his views at 
the time of writing. Mr. Hill himself probably never 
entered into close calculation upon the subject, but 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL 197 



arrived at a practical result from general ideas, and 
thus formed an opinion which his friends' more precise 
detail and business logic confirmed. With slight al- 
terations the article is preserved, and will constitute a 
chapter in his life, the compiler deeming the doctrines 
of the " decline of the drama" thus alluded to as pre- 
valent at this day as at any other period since the star 
monopoly obtained possession of the American stage. 
A curious anomaly is still open for discussion while 
the public pay enormous sums for being amused in 
theatres, stars become wealthy, the managers bank- 
rupt, the stock companies wretched, and the drama is 
continually "going down.'' 

The Park Theatre is among the things that were. 
The system of management which in its day made it 
the theatre of the United States, might in some of its 
features be introduced into modern management with 
profitable results. 

The allusions to this dramatic bye-gone are not 
stricken out. Some of the moves in the programme of 
" attraction" introduction, not yet perfectly understood 
by all the American sight-seers, which were then of 
occasional service, are run into the ground ; yet prac- 
tised on a scale of magnificent repetition by individuals 
whose ready dollars, and liberal outlay of them in pre- 
liminaries, defy all the competition of legitimate 
theatrical managers, and they are content to open 
their theatres for the display of the attractive article, on 
terms that gentleman speculators may realize fortunes, 
while that opened mouthed embodiment of credu- 
lity, the public, swallow the gilded doses of imposition, 
dipping into their pockets deeply for supplies, and fan- 



198 PICTOEIAL LIFE OF 

eying, at the same time, that America contains all the 
foreign talent extant in the world, and the great coun- 
try is generously encouraging its exodus from Europe 
and elsewhere. 

Mr. Hill, in a limited scale, gives an idea of the way 
it was done in his day of activity. Poor Hill ! you had 
seen something of furors in your time. Readers and 
observers among the friends you have left, will judge 
of the progress made in dramatic doings since the days 
when you " strutted and fretted your hour upon the 
stage." 

" I have been behind the scenes, as every one knows, 
who knows me, and the reader may arrive at the same 
conclusion to whom I am unknown, after cogitating 
over this sketch of doings in theatricals. The dra- 
matic art, as such, may be contemplated with rev- 
erence. Its teachings are of high value — its province 
lofty — its history glorious — its power over human 
nature unlimited — its true temples holy ground — its 
priests should be true to their mission ; but if we view 
its rites and mysteries only as adjuncts to money-getting, 
the theatre and all its associations sink to the level of 
Punch and Judy, — the itinerant juggler and his tricks 
of sword-swallowing and plate-spinning, or the still lower 
grade of carnival antics, or the shows that amuse the rab- 
ble of a foreign fair. That in the public, and not in the 
stage, lies the fault, is nearly as old a saying as that ' all 
flesh is grass,' and taken literally, one is just as true as 
the other. The public are in fault just in proportion as 
they are misled, and the stage, departing from its le- 
gitimate purpose, too frequently gives the misdirection- 
and then in sackcloth and ashes sits penitently deplor- 



GEORGE HAXDEL HILL. 199 

ing the effects of its own folly, which has merged into 
dramatic sin. As an art, the drama would stand above 
the sister arts, as painting, poetry, sculpture, and mu- 
sic, have been styled — it employs them all. As a 
trade, charlatanism will always be its directing genius, 
and in the competition which ensues among its quack- 
ish disciples, the art sinks — the drama declines." 

It is not in accordance with the j)lan of this record to 
write a history of the theatre, or its defence. A little 
of the experience of a life passed among the players, 
and of intimacy with their managers, however disturb- 
ing to the legends and traditions of the past, is in 
homely style to be engrossed. 

The announcement of the appearance of a long- 
heralded distinguished tragedian opera singer, or dan- 
seuse, at a theatre in the metropolis, is an event, and 
in the crowded auditory assembled for the grand recep- 
tion, public opinion is formed, and due proclamation 
made that the revival of the drama is at hand. 

The distinguished savior of the thespian cause is a 
lion among lions. The door of "patrician and par- 
venu" palaces are open to him in honor of his " art." 
Lesser "stars," or saviors, or lions, occasion lesser 
tumult, and the drawing-room carpets upon which they 
tread are a shade or two coarser in the fabric, and the 
chosen few who are to behold with wonder Mac- 
beth or Othello unrobed and seen as other men, are se- 
lected from the human heap a layer or two nearer to 
the ground. Each has a set from Macready to Gouffe;* 

* Since this was written. Macready has retired from the mimic stage, 
and poor G-ouffe, inimitable in his pourtraiture of Chimpanzee, has left 
the larger stage of life. 



200 PICTOKIAL LIFE OF 



and while their names are at the head of play-bills in 
capitals for five nights only, or more, the world is after 
them in sections, and the drama is being saved. Each 
of the class of artists referred to, has crowded theatres 
and fashionable audiences, and each " attraction" has 
come, with a reputation from abroad, as a great artist. 

Either Hamlet or Caliban may be selected without 
injury to the distinguished artist's claim. Each, per- 
haps, holds the mirror up to nature ; and although the 
lovers of that division of the drama, understood to be 
classic, would not select Caliban as the exponent of 
their taste in this matter, let Caliban be made fashion- 
able, and Hamlet, a la Caliban, would become classic ; 
and the Tempest, with its minor beauties, be tolerated 
and attractive as being the vehicle for introducing the 
monster to the appreciating crowd. 

Here, however, let us take no laurel from the humble 
actor who may faithfully delineate Shakspeare's Caliban. 

' Act well your part ; there all the honor lies." 

But how, in modern times, the actor of inferior skill 
becomes a great man, in his way, and steps, with long 
strides, over better heads to the eminence which makes 
him " one of 'em" that kept accounts in banks and 
saves the drama from decline, is worthy of thought. 
Let us penetrate the mysterious change from regg to 
larvae — from grub to beetle. Naturalists tell us that 
it takes three years to change the egg of that species oi 
beetle known in Europe as the cockchafer, one of that 
family of leaf-destroyers known in entomological 
science* as Melolonthadje or Melolonthians. 

* If Mr. Hill's friends wonder at this extract of entomologic nomen- 
clature, let them to reminded that h© was at this period engaged ia a 



GEOKGE HANDEL HILL. 



201 



As these insects are the bane of the husbandman, so 
is the stage cockchafer the ruin of root and branch in 
the dramatic field. 

And how long is this leaf-destroyer occupied 
in development? We will not inquire as to the de- 
posit of the egg, or when the grub began to prepare 
for the display of wings. Let us leave allegory and 
examine reality. I have availed myself of the corres- 
pondence and verbal authority of a friend who knows 
the ropes — who has pulled the wires of the show. The 
newspapers of the day will contribute to our ensemble / 
and the reader's memory, upon a little stirring effort, 
may call up a helping spirit to straighten out the kinks. 

Sit down, friendly reader, then — glance your eye 
over this item of general news. Perhaps it is no 
stranger to your sense of vision. No. Well, well. Then 
I'll read it — listen : — 

"Arrived the steamship ****** from Liverpool. 
Among her passengers is the distinguished Mr. Q., who 
will soon appear where all who come from abroad 
should first appear — at the Park." 

And it is verity that the times have been when, if a 
star did not first open there, he had better not have 
opened at all. 

Shall we mark the document above as No. I. in our 
descriptive progress. JSTo. My reader replies " guess 
no t," if he reads the news. 

course of study which involved the consideration of insect life. And cer- 
tainly the ephemeral existence of some stage celebrities might well have 
been suggested to him, as he read of these earth insects flying in the sun- 
shine, displaying their gaudy colored wings, and in a few hours of active 
life destroying plants and trees — at the same time engaged in the efforts 
to reproduce their kind, which in turn are also destined to destroy. 



202 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



" And why not," may ask he who does not read, of 
one who does. " Because," says he, " if not, I say it for 
him." Some months ago I read something like this, 
copied, as was said, from the London Times — authority 
for everything, as we are told. It is not in question 
whether any body ever saw it in the London Times. 
" Did you ?" Observe : We understand that the distin- 
guished Mr. Q. is about to depart for America, to pur- 
chase land in the West, and to permanently reside in 
that nourishing section of the United States — to educate 
his children — to invest all his funds in American stocks 
— and to pursue in the New World the profession he 
has so adorned in the old." 

" Aha," you say, " the first extract is No. 2, and this 
is No. 1." 

Not quite so fast, dear reader. Hear what a corres- 
pondent of a popular journal writes : — 

" Among other things, 'tis said that the enterprising 
manager of the 'Park' is endeavoring to induce the 
distinguished actor and scholar, Mr. Q., to visit the 
States. Extravagant terms have been offered ; but as 
this distinguished artist will be compelled to relinquish 
his London opportunities if he accepts the American 
terms, the result is as yet not determined." 

Nothing here said about " land in the West." 

What are the facts thus far that may illustrate fur- 
ther the mysterious meaning of these dramatic waifs at 
home. The egg of greatness, after tedious incubating 
processes, fails to give out a chick of the genuine breed, 
the task is left for Jonathan to accomplish, and he 
has arrived. Now let us see how fast he grows, and 
what his chances are for purchasing our land, and emi- 
grating to the West. 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL 203 

— — 1 — — — — 

I'll give you a scene, and then more documents — 
more facts. 

Draw your picture, as I describe the room some ten 
feet square. Here is an inventory of the articles there- 
in contained ; place them where you will : 

Items. — " A carpet ;" age and stains have rendered 
obscure the figure woven in, and the fabric is of doubt- 
ful name ; " three chairs," no two alike — perhaps a hint 
is intended in the number that three in this room is 
company enough ; " a table," covered with green cloth, 
relieved by inky patches, and " gouts," not of blood, but 
grease ; " writing materials'' are in their place ; " a 
candle" burning — this looks as if the " time'' was 
" night ;" an " iron safe," not often used, but always 
there ; " a wardrobe," filled with costumes ; an " Indian 
gong ;" piles of " books ;" records of the acted plays for 
seasons more or less ; " files of bills," with great attrac- - 
tion at the head ; magazines of " cards'' to be repro- 
duced at times of need ; under the table manuscripts of 
tragedies by native authors, who are anxiously waiting 
to see them underlined in the bills ; " a toilette 
stand," with its proper and convenient adjuncts defaced 
by frequent use ; a " bottle of wine," first rate ; two 
glasses, and six ' ; cigars." 

Myself and friend occupy each one chair, and are 
jointly resting our heels upon the third. 

This scene some will recognize as a Manager's room. 
It is such ; and in a theatre where all the talent of the 
American stage of the higher rank has appeared. 
Some, not noted high, also, except in their own conceit, 
upon its stage have held forth their hour. „ 

In this room, reader, enter and learn the way it is 
done. One of the " secrets of the prison-house" I am 



204 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 

at liberty to reveal. I shall call myself Friend. The 
Manager's title as we proceed will prefix his speech. 

FRIEND. 

{Looking at the evening paper, finds a first-rate notice 
of Mr. Q.) Well, who is your next card! — is it this 
great attraction, Mr. Q. ? 

MANAGER. 

No. {The monosyllabic response given in a tone 
indicating displeasure at the mention of his name.) 

FRIEND. 

Why not ? 

MANAGER. 

Well, that is a fair question, and I will answer it. 
You think you know something of a theatre. The glory 
attached to the place I occupy is something truly. To 
cater for the amusement of the town is pleasant enough, 
except, however, when the banquet is over, I am to 
pay the bills. The meanest entertainment that I give 
is something expensive, as you would find if you had 
to feed the hundred dependents upon this establishment. 
The "cards" are not all trumps in this game of specu- 
lation, my friend. Now, my stock is good, but we 
must have stars, you know. Here's this Mr. Q. you 
speak of; he is not first-rate. In New York they say 
ha is, so my patrons must see Mr. Q. Upon his arrival 
I addressed him in my usual way. 

FRIEND. 

Let me see the letter. 

MANAGER. 

With pleasure. There's a copy in the book. 

FRIEND. 

{Takes the book and reads.) "To Mr. Q. — Dear Sir 
—If you feel disposed to visit our city, please inform 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 205 

me how your time is arranged, and your terms for ten 
nights, and I will endeavor to accommodate you in both 
particulars. An early reply will oblige, &c.'' 

FRIEND. 

{Puts down the booh) Well, that's all right. 

MANAGER. 

Now read Mr. Q.'s reply. 

FRIEND. 

(After observing the crest iipo?i the seal, reads.) "To 

Mr. . — Dear Sir — It will give me great pleasure 

to visit your city, of whose literary fame I have heard 
so much. My engagement closes here on the 31st. I 
then visit Philadelphia, possibly Baltimore ; then re- 
turn to Xew York for ten nights, to be open for re -en- 
gagements if thought best; then to Philadelphia. 
After that I think I will visit your city for five or ten 
nights, at my option, receiving ha^f the proceeds on 
the stock nights, and two-thirds of one benefit on a 
Monday night — I understand that is your best night 
— with a second benefit on the same terms on the last 
night of engagement, if extended to ten nights. I will 
send you a list of parts, &c. Please to give me im- 
mediate reply, as I have other offers, but prefer to 
close with you. Respectfully yours, O. P. Q. 

" P.S.— 1 hope your company is full." 
{Friend whistles, folds the letter, and looks inquiringly 

at the Manager, who is silent?) 

FRIEND. 

Well, I have heard of such things. Moderate terms 
— I like his impudence. 

MANAGER. 

That's moderate to the requirements of some stars. 
However, I declined. 



206 



PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



FRIEND. 

Then I suppose lie will go to the other house. 

MANAGER. 

Yery likely. There is a list of my weekly expenses. 
You know something of the chances of gain in trade, 
and have some idea of the outfit and charges on an 
India voyage, or the capital required to keep in opera- 
tion a cotton mill, or the profits of insurance or bank- 
ing. Now compare the Manager's profits or expec- 
tations in a city where two rival establishments are 
cutting each other's throats, in competition for "stars," 
with any other investment of time and money within 
your knowledge. 

FRIEND. 

{Is engaged in Tunning over the items of the " dread 
account: ' ' ' 'rentf ' — "lighting' ' — ' '^printing* ' — ' ' company "s 
salaries" — " orchestra" ■ — ■" scene painters" — " carpen- 
ters") Yes, I see ; thirteen hundred seventy-five dollars 
weekly expenses. That divided by five — two hundred 
seventy-five, nightly expenses. Where's your salary ? 

MANAGER. 

My salary! The Manager lives on the glory and 
profit of the season. Now, with Mr. Q.'s liberal terms, 
as you are at the figures, perhaps you may discover 
the amount of profit likely to be realized. If he hits 
hard, he may average from five to six hundred dollars 
per night. 

FRIEND. 

Five or six hundred dollars ! Is that all. Why, we 
think the house holds fourteen hundred dollars, and we 
know it is frequently full. 

MANAGER. 

Crammed, it does not hold in money much more 
than half the sum. Let us suppose we do average six 



HANDEL HILL. 207 



hundred on Q.'s nights. His half three hundred. My 
half three hundred, out of which my stock expenses 
are two hundred seventy-five, or thereabout. One 
hundred of us at work for a trifle more than one star 
receives. Now in a business with so much capital 
or credit involved on one side, what would my mer- 
chant patrons say to a partnership for a few nights on 
these terms ? 

FRIEND. 

Well, this is news to me, I confess, to some enlight- 
enment. I see your books are vouchers for your state- 
ments. Was it so with Ellsler ? 

MANAGER. 

Worse : in addition to her salary, the ballet arrange- 
ments which the theatre pays for, swelled the expenses 
on her nights to nearly nine hundred dollars. 

FRIEND. 

Well, but that is only three nights in each week, and 
then with premiums you get fifteen hundred dollars for 
your eight or nine. 

MANAGER. 

Do we ? " All is not gold that glitters ;" there's her 
returns. Three nights out of twelve she danced to less 
than six hundred dollars gross receipts ; her salary was 
five hundred dollars per night. Two off nights each 
week vary from thirty dollars to eighty per night. 
With the stock company the expenses on these nights 
being between three and four hundred. 

FRIEND. 

How so ? Her aids are not used. Is it pay and no 
play with you ? 

MANAGER. 

We pay them by the week, and divide by five rather 
than three, that the loss may seem to be less. 



208 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 

FRIEND. 

This is not the public's fault. They come and pay. 

MANAGER. 

So they do ; and they may come to see Mr. Q., who 
is no better qualified to draw from his talent alone, than 
some of the names upon my stock list, who, as you see, 
are content with a weekly salary of thirty dollars, and 
twice that sum per week is all that Mr. Q. could get 
a year ago, and be allowed to give himself no airs at 
that. Here is another specimen of his style, in reply 
to one I wrote to him last week, with an offer of fair 
terms. {The manager hands his friend another letter 
from Mr. Q.) 

FRIEND. 

{Casts his eye over the opened sheet, smiling, then 
reads.) 

" New York — Sir — I cannot accede to your terms at 
all — can't consider them — -can't entertain them. Never 
had such a proposition at home from a provincial man- 
ager. I am astonished ; but if you will give me a cer- 
tainty of three hundred dollars per night, benefits as 
named, I will come for ten nights ; or if you elect to 
share, I must have control of the stage, and castings of 
the pieces, my own door-keeper and ticket-seller, and 
the house settled at the third act of the play every 
night, the free list to be suspended, &c. &c. If the 
certainty, then I am to be paid before I play." 

FRIEND. 

Well, that is cool. 

MANAGER. 

Isn't it, for a man of yesterday, who is coming to 
buy our .land and settle in the "West, delighted with 






GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 209 

our institutions, and is resolved to educate his chil- 
dren in Yankee land, vide public press. 

FRIEND. 

Do you comply with this ? 

MANAGER. 

I think not ; but such things are done. It's curious 
that the drama should decline and managers fail, is 
it not, while there are such champions as Mr. Q. in the 

field ? 

FRIEND. 

I do not perceive clearly the motive for one of his 
conditions to take the theatre out of the manager's 
hands, stage and all. 

MANAGER. 

My friend, it is not to be expected that you should 
understand all the tricks of the trade. The books 
from which he plays are marked with those talismanic 
letters on the covers *T. R. D. L., and this is the 
custom of "stars." It is of little consequence here 
whether they were ever upon the stage of the thea- 
tre, the name of which these letters represent, or not. 
In these books all the strong parts of the play are 
weakened, to strengthen the star. For one of the stock 
company, who plays an opposite part, for five dollars a 
night and his share of the applause, as regulated by 
the star's book, against the distinguished individual 
from the T. R. D. L., who gets all the money and ex- 
pects all the applause, to be the favorite of the play, 
would be an awkward affair; yet unless the good 
speeches and fine situations are either cut out from 

* Theatre Royal, Drury Lane. 



210 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



the subordinate parts, or transposed to the hero's 
scenes, this would frequently occur. 

FRIEND. 

Well, let the tragedy go, then. How is it with the 
opera ? 

MANAGER. 

Worse than all. An opera troupe would require all 
the receipts for their remuneration, and expect the 
manager to pay them something for using his estab- 
lishment, as their names would give an eclat to his 
stage, and render it fashionable. 

FRIEND. 

If I was a manager, I should say give me no more 
"stars." 

MANAGER. 

So do I say, and Mr Q. may go to the other house. 

FRIEND. 

But will the other manager stand such imposition. 

MANAGER. 

Against his will he might ; it would injure me, and 
managers have a way of supporting the drama— by 
ruining each other, and giving the " stars" an opportu- 
nity to display their great regard for the welfare of the 
stage. Now, we are here like the man in the oyster 
case. Mr. Q. will get the oyster if he can. But if I 
must have the shell, I had as soon have both shells, or 
give up my chance for either. If I am to lose money, 
it is to me preferable to lose it with empty benches 
instead of full ones. 

FRD3ND. 

What will you do when Q. goes to the other house ? 
The people will follow him. 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL 211 



MANAGER. 

This time I am not in his power, as he thinks : read 
that. 

FRIEND. 

( Taking a letter offered by the ma?iagfer, reads) — "Yon 
can have my company on the terms you propose — thir- 
ty horses — scene riders, male and female — ponies — trap- 
pings — good clowns — in short, a perfect equestrian com- 
pany, ready for action whenever you say the word." 
Well, but is this legitimate ? 

MANAGER. 

The " stars" will say no, and give out that I degrade the 
stage with saw-dust and tan and cater to a vulgar taste. 
Now, I know that Mr. Q., in Shakespeare, at the other 
house, can no more run against my equestrian troupe, 
than a figuarante of the last century in a fancy dance 
could compete with Ellsler or Taglioni in the Sylphide 
or Bayadere. Mr. Q. will not risk his reputation by 
going to the other house, if he finds he is to encounter 
Rums Welch or June's company, in a race for pub- 
lic favor. He will remember that the great Kemble 
'. was discomfited by a real elephant in Blue Beard in 
London ; and he is also aware that the stage of the le- 
gitimate T. R. D. L. has been occupied by the ponies 
and the sports of the ring ; and that the menagerie has 
grouped its cages under the " classic" dome ; while 
distinguished artists — tragedians and singers — were 
starring in the provinces, or running over to New York 
to escape chancery and the queen's bench. 

FRIEND. 

Your argument is a fair one against the "stars;" 
you should let the public understand it. Managers 



212 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 

are the parties to understand it and to reform it ; and until 
they do, the drama will continue to decline. There are 
honorable exceptions to the Mr. Q.'s school at home 
and abroad ; and Mr. Q. has his imitators of native 
origin. It is the principle that should be moved against ? 
and not the practitioner, perhaps — for a man or woman 
can hardly be blamed for taking advantage of a mar- 
ket when the demand is greater than the supply. This 
is human nature, and its instincts will prevail, whe- 
ther bread-stuffs or ballet girls, pork or tragedians, fuel 
or opera-singers, be the commodity which is the sub- 
ject of speculation. 

Memorandum. — In relation to the engagement with 
Mr. Q., the manager triumphed. He (Mr. Q.) did re- 
duce his terms ; he did not suspend the free list ; nor 
did he have his own door-keeper ; nor did he cast the 
plays ; nor did he settle the house in the third act, or 
control the stage. But after the horses had their run, 
honored by the nightly attendance of " fashion and 
taste" — as represented by the higher classes — the Cata- 
ract of the Ganges gave way to the Forty Thieves. 
They in their turn retired, making a place for Mr. Q., 
who was received quite as well as he deserved to be — 
with fair attendance, and nothing more — and for once 
the manager was protected from a loss by an eminent 
" star," who was said to come from the T. R. D. L. It 
may be well to note that the " equestrian troupe" cost 
not more than a third part of the nightly requirements 
of many single "stars," who can barely average half- 
filled houses, whenever they play what is ambiguously 
termed legitimate drama. 



GEORGE HAXDEL HILL. 213 



CHAPTER XX. 

"There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamed of in your philoso- 
phy." 

THE MOGUL TALE — AN ENGAGEMENT WITH A CELEBRATED .ERONAUT. 

We know how, under some circumstances, Mr. Hill 
would act his part in the drama of real life. We have 
seen him under different impulses, and have had his 
own sensations described by his own hand. 

There is a German legend which has for its moral 
that no person, however humble, but may excel in 
something. We do not intend to give the legend entire, 
or the origin of the custom episodically introduced in 
the story for collateral purposes. It was " the custom 
of the country," in this case, that every dead body 
found was denied decent burial, unless some person re- 
cognized it, and could truthfully say something good of 
the departed. 

On one occasion a body lay near the allotted time 
exposed and unrecognized. The features, form, and 
apparel of the unknown bore testimony conclusive 
against his being formed of aristocratic earth. As he 
was about to be cast forth into unsanctified ground, an 
old woman was attracted to the spot. After an anxious 
look, with an expressive shake of the head, accompany- 
ing it with a motion of her " skinny fingers," she ex- 
claimed — 

* Ah, Hans, poor oaf, are you gone ! Well, well, the 
world has lost the best whistler in Germany. 



214 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



" The best whistler," said the functionary, who was 
waiting to profit by the last act of man, in giving the 
body decent burial at the town's expense, u the best 
whistler. That's enough. He was the best in some- 
thing." 

This Hans, by the accomplishment of whistling, se- 
cured to himself a decent grave. 

Now there are many inhabitants of this globe, in the 
human form, whose lives have come to an end with no 
one to vouch for them in relation to excellence. On 
the other hand, many persons have rendered their 
names famous for ages by single acts, without reference 
to the good effect or character of the acts or actions. It 
cannot be necessary to furnish examples to support 
this proposition. 

Mr. Hill was famous for whistling, we know from his 
own account ; and the public voice has proclaimed that 
he was worthy of a noble memory in his vocation as a 
player. In keeping with the dogma, that a man's life 
should give more than his public acts, when sent forth 
for the judgment of friends or enemies, as well as that 
other section in large majorities which is composed of 
the indifferent, as we approach the close of a too brief 
career, will be presented an incident by this disciple 
of Momus, showing his experience in hydrogen gas. 

Among the farces witnessed by me in the days of 
my youth, was the " Mogul Tale ; or the Cobbler's des- 
cent in a Balloon." To see old " Barnes" as " Johnny 
Atkins'' was the delight of other eyes than mine. In 
these same days of comic actors, who did really hold 
the mirror up to nature, if not always perpendicularly, 
still in such a position as to give the " age and body of 






GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 215 

the time its form and pressure," as well as to " show vice 
its own image," with a little allowance for flaws in the 
glass, or irregularities in the amalgam which gave to 
the stage mirror its reflecting power. 

Barnes was famous in many respects, and very famous 
at the time of its production as the hero of the Mogul 
Tale. This piece was intended as a hit at the mania of 
ballooning, then culminating to a point of interest, not 
at all warning until after-night ascensions in illuminated 
balloons became the only attractive exhibition of this 
kind, and two or three voyagers were killed by bal- 
loons taking fire and descending rapidly to the earth. 

Ballooning, in reality, had not attracted my notice, 
with a view to any experiment in a wicker basket sus- 
pended by cords over a bag of silk in propria persona. 

I had acted Johnny Atkins, and been a supposed 
ballooner in the midst of a new furore for this species 
of entertainment. I had been introduced to a gentle- 
man, well known for his scientific attainments ; he 
also possessed the faculty of persuading everybody 
into acquiescence with his plans and schemes. After 
the performance of the Mogul Tale we met at the table 
of the Tremont House, Boston, and over a chicken 
salad, with occasional sips of sherry, I listened to his 
glowing description of serial voyages, and finally ac- 
cepted an invitation to sail with him over the tops of 
trees and houses, and explore the regions of upper air ; 
in short, I promised to leave my fellow-men on earth, 
and take a trip among the clouds. 

My friendly reader may smile, and think, perhaps, 
that my vision was already clouded with the sips of 
sherry I had taken. Be that as it may, the engage- 



216 PICTORIAI, LIFE OF 

ment was made as I describe it, and when the day for 
the appointed ascension came, about three o'clock in 
the afternoon of the aforesaid day I walked to the spot 
from which our departure was to be taken, in company 
with thousands of men, women and children who were 
going to secure outside places to see the show free 
gratis for nothing. 

Besides the usual and ordinary attraction to a crowd, 
of a man going up miles away, with a chance of a fall 
on the land, or perhaps a sea voyage in a frail bark, 
without rudder or compass, on this great occasion was 
proposed two novelties. First, the balloon itself it being 
formed of some other fabric than silk. (I have forgot- 
ten the name of the article.) The second was, that a 
friend, well known to the citizens, would accompany 
the aeronaut in his flight ; that when they had ascend- 
ed to a proper height bills would be thrown from the 
car, informing the assemblage the name of the dis- 
tinguished individual who had thus in their presence 
made his first appearance in a new character. 

I suppose the formula of balloon raising is familiar 
to most persons dwelling in cities, and also many others 
who have witnessed these elevations as opportunities 
have offered. 

I am not going to affect science, or teach the reader 
how to- raise air balloons, yet I must say a word about 
hydrogen. 

Students of chemistry will not fail to remember that 
description of generating hydrogen gas which com- 
mences with, " Take a gun barrel and place it across a 
furnace so as to heat it red hot." Any work on chemis- 
try will supply the omitted part, and give other 
methods to those who may wish to learn. 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 217 



My ballooning friend had often been put to his wife 
to " raise the wind.'' I do not know whether he had 
the same difficulties to overcome in raising hydrogen 
separated from its brother or sister elements of at- 
mospheric combinations, or in alcohol and water, as 
understood in or out of scientific circles. 

Combined trifling movements ha\ r e produced great 
results in politics, war and theatricals. Statesmen, 
generals and showmen have become famous in a clay 
by happy combination, or in other words, lucky hits. 

I had re-engaged at the theatre, and was advertised 
to appear that evening as Johnny Atkins, in the Mogul 
Tale, the manager little dreaming that I was the veri- 
table friend going up in the balloon. 

I had thought of the crowd that would rush to the 
theatre, after the fact became known, to hear the ac- 
count of the real matter, by Johnny Atkins, when he 
descended with Doctor Pedant in the gardens of the 
Mogul's palace. 

One item of profit here, another in the share of re- 
ceipts to be taken at the door of the arena combination, 
forsooth. 

I noticed many persons looking skyward, and heard 
them express their regrets that the wind was so high. 
Neither the force of the wind, or its seaward direction 
had attracted my notice before. I saw the huge ma- 
chine rolling about as it became more and more buoy- 
ant. The canvass shook the posts of the arena, as it 
flapped from the occasional gusts of a fresh north-west- 
er. I began seriously to reflect upon what I had un- 
dertaken to do. I bethought me of an apology, after 
the fashion of some distinguished singers of whom I had 



218 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 

heard ; but no, I resolved to go, and if for my folly it 
was my destiny to come to ill luck, I must submit. 
With this settlement of the matter I continued to move 
on with the multitude. In a few moments I wa3 in 
the arena, and recognized among the patrons of high- 
flying numerous friends and acquaintances, who had 
not the slightest idea that I was to accompany the 
aeronaut, now so busily engaged in gas-making, cheer- 
ful and communicative to those about him. I ques- 
tioned my friend as to the chances of being back in 
time for the theatre. 

" Plenty of time,'' said «he, " if I get gas enough to 
go. I am afraid I cannot carry you this time." 

" Afraid ! you afraid ?" I said, mentally, " that is bet- 
ter than for me to be afraid. But unless you can en- 
sure my return in time to play, I cannot go." 

"¥e shall see.'' 

He looked at his watch, at the clouds, at the gas- 
barrels, at the spectators, at the balloon and at me. 

" Ah !" and he squinted at the sky again, " the wind 
will change, the gas does not make,'' and thus the time 
went on for an hour, causing much impatience to the 
outside auditory. 

The heads of some calculating boys were introduced 
beneath the canvass, while others cut holes in it to see 
the show without paying. In vain the police assayed 
to keep out all the intruders. 

The aeronaut having obtained the services of a dozen 
men or more, stepped into the car, each man holding 
in his hands one of the cords sustaining the balloon, to 
keep it from rising too suddenly. Then came a shout 
from the crowd, who were overseeing the arrangements 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 219 

from the top of the arena, for the companion, that is 
for myself. The intrepid aeronaut informed them that 
it was impossible for any one to ascend with him. I 
had been previously furnished with this knowledge, 
which, of course, I kept secret. 

The cords were allowed to be stretched, but the 
balloon would not ascend. The principal threw out 
some of the wardrobe and ballast; still it remained 
upon terra forma. The crowd continued shouting for 
the ascension, the aeronaut threw out more sand bags, 
but the struggling globe, made of what material I know 
not, seemed unable to overcome the " gravity" in the 
car. It swayed about, still held by the ropes ; it rose 
a few feet, then descended, which caused hisses and 
groans from the multitude. 

A sudden shift of wind sent the balloon and the per- 
sons who held it across the enclosure in an opposite 
direction. It mounted a few feet ; the rope was 
hastily cut which held the car. Sailing obliquely to the 
top of the canvass, it caught on one of the posts and 
held fast. The balloon escaped from the torn netting, 
rapidly ascended on its own hook, leaving the car and 
the intrepid aeronaut outside the arena, landed safely 
upon the ground. 

The concussion scattered about the bills which were 
to be dropped from the clouds ; these the mischievous 
urchins nearest at hand seized upon, circulated and 
were reading with various accents and emphasis to the 
listening wags. Thev were there informed that the 
person who ascended with Mr. * ** * * was Yankee Hill, 
who would come down in time to meet his friends in 
the evening at the theatre. The reading of these bills 



220 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



produced much merriment, which was not decreased 
by my appearance outside to consols my balloon- 
wrecked friend. 

I believe this balloon was never heard of afterward ; 
but my share in the adventure has been the theme of 
frequent disputes at many a social gathering. . 

Neither myself or the manager of the theatre had 
cause to regret this affair. One of the fullest houses of 
the season greeted Johnny Atkins, who traversed the 
air in a balloon, which was manoeuvred without hydro- 
gen, by the skillful arrangement of Jacob Johnson,* 
who raises everything but the devil in stage matters, 
and even has raised him in the Bottle Imp and Faus- 
tus, in many of our theatres. 

This balloon failure illustrated one of the strange 
peculiarities of human nature observable at all times in 
show business. Those persons who paid for their 
tickets to enter the canvass-walled arena for the pur- 
pose of witnessing the filling of the balloon, and the 
ceremonies of a departure, contributing aid to the indi- 
vidual thus risking his money in gas making and his 
life in going up, sympathized with the aeronaut in the 
failure and loss of his air-ship, while the outside bar- 
barians, who came as dead heads do to the theatre, to 
; see the show at no cost to themselves, evinced their dis- 
appointment by groans and jests at another's undoings. 

Now in theatres a certain number of individuals 

* The reader may be informed that this veteran machinist is still alive ; 
and that the raising of spirits, the sinking of demons, the flying cars, the 
moving waters, blazing suns, and revolving stars are under his direction. 
When he calls spirits from the vasty deep, or elsewhere, they come. He 
has been at the head of his department, in stage business, for many years, 
and in the principal theatres of America. 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 221 

anxious to sustain the drama after the fashion of stars, 
though showing their love for the profession in different 
form, are not unlike the balloon patrons. 

The stars encourage the drama by taking all the 
money that is paid at the doors. The patrons encour- 
age the drama by witnessing the stars when they can 
without paying at all As two of a trade can never 
agree, the stars shrewdly suspend the free list when 
they can, then comes a war between the " patrons" and 
the " stars," and many an inky battle has been fought 
in consequence thereof. 

Why a manager should give away his tickets to a 
certain class of individuals I am unable to determine ; 
and in consequence of this privilege, these patrons and 
sustainers of the art should be the first to discover and 
publish any little blemish or shortcomings in the enter- 
tainments they enjoy, free of cost, is another mystery 
yet to be solved. 

It is not an unfrequent occurrence in theatres after a 
new piece, produced at great expense, has been played 
a few times, to hear these patrons exclaim, "Why 
don't the manager play something else ? We have 
seen this two or three times. We want something new." 

Half receipts, stars and free tickets, Messieurs Mana- 
gers, are two hard drains upon your system ; and as 
money is the vital current in theatrical treasuries, by 
which the body is sustained in its growth, you must 
reform your methed, or these drains are as sure to destroy 
you as loss of nutrition in the animal organization is 
sure to induce emaciation and decay. One thing more, 
brother actors, actresses and most respected and re- 
spectable managers, if you desire your art to prosper, 



222 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



keep closed the door that leads to the stage, confine the 
audience to that part of the house assigned to them. Be- 
hind the scenes should be (not to. speak irreverently) 
holy ground. Keep the curtain between the people and 
the players. Let them not discover the machinery of 
the art, lest the illusion may vanish. 

The privileges and civilities of social life may be 
yours, but keep aloof long enough to separate yourself 
from the character you have represented. Do not, 
after acting Hamlet and Macbeth, Cato or Coriolanus, 
Othello, or Richard, too soon meet your friends while 
yet the paint is upon your face. Withdraw yourself until 
next day, when, as a citizen, you may meet your friends 
and fellow-men ; but talk not of your trade. A clergy- 
man leaves theology in his study when he enters the 
social circle. The physician discourses not of pills and 
fevers in his hours of relaxation. If he be well bred, 
and his companions are men of education and good 
sense, let the player follow the dictates of correct taste, 
and increase the respect his friends have for the art he 
professes, by acknowledging in the artist the gentle- 
man, than which title there is no higher known 
among the ranks of men, whose claim to pre-eminence 
over their fellow-beings is that of cultivated minds, the 
evidence of which is intellectual as well as moral in- 
tegrity, generous intelligence and good temper. 

I may not live to see a reform in the drama. No 
single influence can accomplish it ; and if I were at 
confession, I might honestly disclose occasional de- 
partures from the legitimate mission of the player, such 
as I have recorded in my balloon adventure, so far as 
it had to d© with the theatre. Still, I would renounce 



GEOItfJE HANDEL HILL. 223 

such coup de etats for the future, if my example would 
make proselytes. The public should begin the work. 
For them I did it ; " for them the gracious Duncan have 
I murdered ;" " for them have I put on the robes ci 
Richard ; and while I live to please, I must please to' 
live." 

I should rejoice in a change of things as a player 
that kept the players to their proper work, and with 
our patrons and friends, the public, all the lesser and 
greater lights in the histrionic world would hail the 
era that should realize the poet's aspirations and — 

" Bid scenic virtue form the rising age, 

And truth diffuse its radiance from the stage. 



224 P1CT0KIAL LIFE .OF 



CHAPTER XXI. 

" I plough, I rake, I mow, I sow. 
And sometimes I to market go." 

The ghosts of many partly buried embodiments 
haunted Hill. He liked the sound of doctor, as a pre- 
fix to his name, but the practice ever in prospective 
was not attractive. Still, he had an itching ear to be 
called doctor. 

Another branch of the healing art had for some time 
impressed itself upon his susceptible system ; and a 
visit with a medical friend to one of the famous dental 
establishments in Boston convinced Hill that this was 
the ground for him. The general " fixtures of this 
reception room" charmed the amateur dentist, and he 
determined to become " one of them." 

An elegantly-attired lady entered from the operating 
room, smiling as she pleasantly bade good morning to 
the doctor, who followed her, and who, according to his 
vocation, had been engaged either in supplying her 
with a set of ornaments to the mouth, or making beau- 
tiful a natural set. As in these days of artistic excel- 
lence in the dental branch of surgery, it is difficult at 
sight to decide upon real or artificials, and as good 
breeding forbids a question of this kind, this lady and 
her case was and is a secret. 

Hill came to the conclusion that he had at last hit 
upon his true mission. After viewing all that was to 
bo seen in thia parlor, where had been cured many a 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL 225 

toothache, and where beauty had been adorned by aid 
of gold, quartz, clay, and such other elements of hand- 
some teeth, Hill departed, and hastened to his resi- 
dence. After some reflection he ordered a plate for his 
door, and on it was engraved — • 

DR. G. H. HILL, 

Surgeon Dentist. 

Hill often himself described it as giving him great 
satisfaction to witness the passers-by reading the plate, 
and as he said, he felt every inch a doctor. 

As far as a display of instruments, a fine operating 
chair and sundry other appendages of the art would 
make it, one of Hill's rooms became a dentist's office, 
and he had his plan of operation matured. To be sure 
he was scarcely ever at home to respond to professional 
calls ; but to have Doctor Hill inquired for during his 
absence was a pleasing reminiscence. 

Now to pull a tooth, or to extract it, as the operation 
is called, by the modern torturers, would give Hill as 
much pain as he would inflict upon his victim, unless, 
as he quaintly observed in one case, " it come mighty 
easy." The pulling Hill intended to do by deputy. 

Many who knew Mr. Hill will remember this period 
of dental excitement. No friend could visit him that 
he did not invite him into his office, and a forced exam- 
ination of teeth followed. He was lookiug into every- 
body's mouth for a time. His usual conversation 
was upon dentistry, and " Come up to my office," his 
constant invitation. 

The reader must understand that Hill had received 
valuable instructions from Dr. Crana of Park Place, 



226 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



New York, and actually practised the art with credit as 
well as profit. 

A visit to the splendid garden and grounds of Mr. 
Cushing at Watertown, perhaps the most extensive in 
the vicinity of Boston, awakened in Mr. Plill's mind an 
enthusiasm for elegant agriculture ; and not having the 
fear of the " Rochester cow and calf" before his eyes, 
but moved and seduced by the fat kine, rich fields, mag- 
nificent graperies and conservatories, palaces, classic 
villas and cottages which abound in the rural districts 
in the neighborhood of the modern Athens, the proper- 
ty of gentlemen farmers, Mr. Hill resolved to possess 
the " acres"* within the boundaries of which he would 
write lectures, study character and philosophy in such 
intervals of ploughing, hoeing, planting, sowing, mow- 
ing, ditching and all such improving processes as the 
seasons, or a proper care of the paramount agricultural 
interest, would permit. 

The agricultural mania had seized him. He felt al- 
ready like Cincinnatus substituting the stage for the 
battle field. 

How many actors have retired upon a farm the re- 
ward of years of toil, buried in acres o£ used up land, 
from which they hoped that the products of the earth 
would rise at harvest time to fill their granaries and 
barns. A short time has proved to them that there is 
no play in the husbandman's life. By the sweat of the 
brow men live who till the ground. And the actor's 
return to the " shop" again is the usual sequel to the 
" farmer's story,'' there to make up the losses of the re- 
tirement, and if possible to secure a competence against 



* That is, buy a place. 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 227 

the wants that too often attend the final retirement ol 
the veteran of the stage. The agricultural fever sub- 
sided in a few davs, though Hill never entirely con- 
valesced from its invasion at this time.* 

Now after the incidents of Mr. Hill's successful 
career in his professional triumphs, it required no 
ordinary amount of firmness to withstand tempta- 
tions so frequently offered to his notice ; to avoid influ- 
ences, now of the most repulsive kind, and to begin 
anew the work of life. 

The difficulties which beset his path onward were not 
lessened by his peculiar temperament, so liable to lead 
him into the pleasant rather than into the practical 
road ; nevertheless he gave all his attention to his busi- 
ness, gradually weaning himself from the pleasures ot 
wine and its associations ; a spirit of prudence seemed 
to guide him. 

In the year 1846, a return of the agricultural mania 
showed itself by some premonitory symptoms, the dis- 
ease at this time being much modified in its character, 
and mild in its action. He purchased Chestnut Hill, 
in the town of Batavia, a beautiful country residence, 
and here he removed in 1847. 

Mr. Hill had subscribed his name as one of the re- 
formers of temperance, in this great progressive work 
of a progressive age. He had also secured the services 
of a dramatist to furnish him with new pieces, and the 
public were prepared to greet him as the only correct 

* He had undoubtedly reformed his plan of life, and one of the first 
steps towards future usefulness was his association with Enterprise 
Lodge, New York. 

f And was enthusiastic. 



228 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 

representative of American comic characters. . Every- 
thing, so far as human wisdom could foresee, promised 
a long life of happiness and usefulness. To use his 
own words as expressed to a friend — " It seemed to him 
as if he had just began to live." 



' 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 229 



CHAPTER XXL 

LAST ILLNESS AND DEATH OF MR HILL. 

Until August, 1849, Mr. Hill attended constantly to 
his professional duties ; on some occasions giving his 
entertainments and comic lectures, and frequently per- 
forming his round of characters in the theatre. 

He visited Saratoga for the purpose of lecturing at 
the fashionable season, and also for the purpose of re- 
cruiting his strength, which had been tasked too hard 
during this year. 

He had announced his intention of giving a perform- 
ance on a certain evening. On the day advertised he 
was suddenly attacked by a debilitating disease. 

He had never disappointed an assembled audience in 
consequence of sickness ; and having consulted a phy- 
sician, he sanctioned his leaving his bed, and Mr. Hill 
most imprudently departed for the lecture-room. Ar- 
riving behind the time fixed for the commencement of 
the lecture, signs of disapprobation were manifested by 
a part of the audience. When prder was restored, Mr. 
Hill explained the cause of his delay ; and said although 
this was the first time he had kept an audience waiting, 
it was not the first time he had (silently) waited for an 
audience. 

His explanation was satisfactory, and his performance 
was applauded throughout. 

At its conclusion Mr. Hill left the lecture-room to re- 
pose on his death-bed. 



230 PICTORIAL LIFE OF 



This was his last effort on life's mimic scene. 

The last scene of all that ends this strange eventful 
history was near at hand, and is briefly to be recorded. 

The one who had so often cheered him in the troubles 
of early life, was sent for from her peaceful home, to 
comfort him with her presence in the hour of death. 
She came — the wife and mother — to return to a desolate 
home a widow, and to carry a father's blessing to the 
children of his love. On the 27th of September, 1810, 
George Handel Hill passed from this life, in the fortieth 
year of his age. He was buried in Green Ridge 
Cemetery at Saratoga. 

The impressive funeral service of the Odd Fellows' 
ritual was performed at the grave, in which was depos- 
ited the body. 

The news of his death was received with true sorrow 
by many who in life had known his Stirling worth. 

In many of the relations of life he had acted well his 
part, and the few errors involved iu his passage through 
this bustling world, compared with his virtues and 
commendable qualities, only give him a title to the 
common frailties of man, and sink into obscurit} 7- when 
contrasted with the good he hath done in his day of 
life. When his name is mentioned in connection with 
the art which, it was his pride to practice, the words of 
the great dramatist, as applied to the memory of a de- 
parted humorist, dear to him who spoke them, will be 
repeated time and again — 



Alas ! poor Yorick — 

I knew him well — 

A fellow of infinite jest." 



If it be true that it is better to have a bad epitaph 
when you die, than the players' bad report while you 



GEORGE HANDEL HILL. 231 

live, it is equally true of the player himself, that he had 
better have a bad epitaph when dead than the public's 
bad report while living. 

George Handel Hill had no enemies, and his early 
demise — not yet forty years — in the prime of life, with 
improved ideas, calculated to make his future efforts 
valuable to himself and his family, struck his profes 
sional brethren as one of the mysterious manifestations 
of Providence, not easily to be reconciled with man's 
views of the wisdom of the Author of all good. His 
death was a loss to the American stage, not soon to be 
supplied. 



232 LECTURE ON NEW ENGLAND. 



ANTIQUITIES AND PRODUCTS OF NEW ENGLAND 
YANKEEOLOGICALLY SPEAKING. 



It was thought at one time that the English had car- 
ried off Plymouth Kock, and made it a part of the 
Bock of Gibraltar, but when they paid us a visit in red 
uniform, and tested the material, they found the old 
stun there, and they found it a Gibraltar tew. T was a 
great letter among the ancients, and from it arose the 
society of T totallers. Their idol, the Tea, became so 
common, arter a spell, that it was .emptied by the box- 
full intew Boston harbor. Turtle, a shell of which you 
may see in my collection, gave birth tew the sayin' of 
" shell out." The tarm hierology, which we use in des- 
cribin' these things, means that the people in old times 
were rather toploftical. A number of these matters 
hev been hard tew diskiver, but they are easy when 
you know 'em. E"ow, many on you b'lieve the old 
sayin' that matches were made in heaven, but I kin 
prove they were made in New England, 'specially the 
Lucifer ones. If I had time I might say suthin' about 
the brimstun at one eend of 'em, but I leave you all 
tew find out about that, herearter, yourselves. Putty 
is a great antiquity. Its fluctuation in this day is a re- 
markable contrast tew the past : putty, anciently, jest 
stuck where it was put. You hev heern of com? 
Well, I guess you hev. Tew vary our subject, and 
teck things gmerally, we will pass on tew corn, and 



LECTURE ON NEW ENGLAND.* 233 

that brings us to products of the sile. The race anterior 
tew the ancient Pilgrims knew suthin' about this vege- 
table, but it was left to our airly ancestors tew develope 
the full usefulness of this grain. The Ingens knew how 
to use it in the rough, but, oh ! Johnny cakes and corn 
juice, to what parfection it was finally brought by the 
descendants of the primitive fathers. Findin' that by 
poundin' the grain, niixin' with it a leetle milk and a 
few eggs, that it made a mixtur of a humanizin' cha- 
racter for the innards, they set tew work to fix a liquid 
mixture out of the juice, to wash down the cakes, and 
pursuin' it through a spirit of researsh, from one dis- 
kivery tew anuther, they got out a juice which set their 
tongues workin' very lively. Findin' it a warmin.' mix- 
tur, they kept on takin' it, and finally their legs got tew 
movin' in seech a zig-zag fashion, that many were 
shocked with the new drink. This diskivery undoubt- 
edly pinted many intew very crooked ways, and gin rise 
to the expression that — " This is a great country." 

It may be proper, before proceedin' farther, tew state 
that the ancient New Englanders wore a becomin' kiy- 
erin' in airly times. In old times they went in for an 
all-sufficient amount of brim, while now, hevin' grown 
cute and savin' of stuff, they cut it so precious narrow, 
that it is eenamost all shaved off. Y-e-s they dew. In 
the coat some difference may be*diskivered ; the an- 
tique wraps up the hull body — while in t'other the body 
is neglected, and the material is all consigned tew the 
skirt or tail-eend of the kiverin'. Frock coats air an 
exception, and sacks air different and primitive. 

It is a ginerai opinion that wooden clocks, like some 
people's larnin', came naturally tew the ancient inhabi- 
tants, but who began to build 'em for exportation re 



234 LECTURE ON NEW ENGLAND. 

mains a hidden mystery. It is pretty sartain, however, 
that wooden clocks hev ben diskivered, and, I may say, 
that in my travels, not only on this Continent, but in 
some furrin' parts, I hev hern on a few of 'em, and seen 
a couple, I reckon : well, I guess I hev. They are a 
nat'ral product of New England. Wooden nutmegs 
spring spontaneously from the sile ; tooth-powder is 
turned out as plenty as sawdust, and a good deal like 
it tew ; bear' s grease made from New England pork, 
highly scented, is biled down in its factories ; and the 
patent pills, which can cure anything from measles to 
an amputated head, hev all sprung from this ancient 
race. 

We hev good reason tew b'lieve that New Engend- 
ers made the first shoes, for, on decypherin' one of the 
old inscriptions, we find inscribed the words : — u There 
is nothiri* like leather" An evidence agin which there 
kin be no dispute. What a sublime contemplation it 
is, that New England protects, by the science of coo- 
blin\ the gineral understandin' of half creation. 

We now come tew the interesting part of our subject, 
which more particularly treats of punMns. Punkins 
air indigenous tew our sile, and the ancient settlers 
found that out, at an early period ; seeing this big fruit, 
they naturally sot to work to see what its innards was 
made of. By sartain .paintin's and cartouches, still pre- 
sarved, and by written history, as sot down in hiero- 
glyphics, we learn that they first tried 'em raw, but 
they didn't eat good, and then they cooked 'em. Ah ! 
oh ! AHEM ! ! ! A diskivery was now made, which 
sot the mouths of a hull colony watering. They soon 
got tew making them intew pies. 

Punkin is put over the pie, to signify that the punkin 



LECTURE ON NEW ENGLAND. 235 

was first diskivered, and that it was a'ter made intew 
the pie. You will recollect that the pie was the second 
di ski very. The eatin' of the pie wanted no study, for 
it was found, by actual experiment, that if you put a 
piece of pie intew the hands of a Yankee baby, it jest 
natrally puts it in its mouth. 

At one period, we held a deep investigation in the 
historical society, tew which I hev the honor of bein' 
Corresponding Secretary. The subject was a stun which 
bore this queer inscription : 

ITIS APU NKEST ITIS. 
It was plain tew to perceive that it was a petrified vege- 
table, but it was desp'rate hard tew decypher, geologi- 
cally, its class, 'cause it was so carefully dried up. We 
sot to work on the inscription, thinkin' that as it was 
antique, it would tell the origin of the plant, or gin us 
a peep intew some matter of airly history. Deacon 
Starns, the President, a'ter consultin' all the books in 
the library, remarked to the Society, in his commandin' 
way : — 

Deacon. — A'ter a searchin' hunt, and considerable 
readin', I hev found out that the first word is a Latin 
tarm. It is — " ITIS, — thou goest" and I reckon I 
wouldn't go through sech another hunt tew find out the 
beginnin' or eend of creation. I had a searchin' time, 
I b'lieve. 

Our antiquary spoke right up tew the President on 
hearin' this : 

Antiquary. — Why, Deacon, ITIS, well, yes, guess it 
is, well, I declare, who'd thought it, — and I swow if 
the last word don't spell jest the same thing. Thou 
goest. Yes, jest the same. Mabbe the middle means 
that tew, let me see. No, for spell it which way you 



236 LECTURE ON NEW ENGLAND. 

will, up or down, it seems to mean suthin' else, y-e-s, I 
guess it does ; well, really. I move, Deacon, we sit on 
this stun till we find it out. Parseverance will dew it, 
for by that you hev already diskivered the first, and me 
the last word. 

Deacon. — ITou diskiver ? ahem f You ! I found both 
out myself. 

Antiquary. — You will own, Mr. President, that you 
ony named the first. 

Deacon. — Yes ; and that was the key tew the second, 
sir ; now do you feel ? 

Antiquary. — I reckon, Deacon, it's one thing tew 
find the key, and anuther tew know its use. I aint 
goin' tew be robbed of my researches, I guess ; par- 
ticularly, a'ter I hev unlocked a secret of seech impor- 
tance. 

Deacon. — If the antiquity gentleman of this so-ci-e-ty 
hes a mind tew, he wiYL please come tew order. 

The society unanimously called the antiquary tew 
order, and rite off, a new member, a timid lookin' young 
feller remarked : 

New Member. — If it would please the society, I 
would like to make a slight remark ; not that I kin 
throw light upon the subject afore you ; a timely re- 
mark, however, might lead to new remarks, and re- 
markin' upon one pint a'ter another, would draw out 
remarks. 

Deacon. — ( Waving hand.) Qo on, sir ; let us hear 
your remark, and if you please make it remarkable 
brief. 

New Member. — Yes, sir. I would ony remark, that 
our doctor remarked, that AP TJ, if the TJ was an 0, 
would be the Greek word for from. 



LECTURE OX NEW ENGLAND. 



The sensation at heerin' this was tremenjus. I may 
say the hull society was set a bilin'. The new member 
got frightened at what he had did, and I nat 'rally ex- 
pected him tew run. Our antiquary moved that a 
medal be struck in his honor, and that frightened him 
wus. He said he be darned, if they should strike him 
with a medal, and threatened he'd lick the antiquary 
the first time he caught him sarchin' in the ruins of his 
daddy's mill. Finally, the twitter in which they had 
all been put smoothed down, and they all, ginerally, sot 
tew work tew find out the last undi skivered word. I 
told 'em now, myself, that if the third word had an (a) 
and (?i) atween the (?i) and (&), I'd think it was nankin. 

Antiquary. — That's it. It's named a'ter nanlin 
trowsers. 

President. — Ah ! yes, yes, that is a Chinese word. 
I have heard the capin' of one of my vessels say it was 
a town in China. Ah ! ha ! that's it, sure enough, I 
reckon. Well, cal'late the hull reads, now, clear as 
moonshine : let me see : 

Latin, Greek. Chinese. Latin. 

ITIS APU NKUST ITIS 

THOU GOEST FROM NANKIN, THOU GOEST. 

It is plain as the nose on a face, tew the eye of 
science ginerally, and tew this society in particular, that 
this stun was once a Chinese fruit, sent out to this coun- 
try, to see if it would fructify, and here the darn thing 
has taken a notion instead to petrify ! 

The applause was tremenjus ! 

Zachariah Stanhope, a consarned dirty little rascal, 
who swept our historical room and made the fires, bust 
right out intew a snicker. He had been sticking his 



23 S LECTUBE ON NEW ENGLAND. 

tow head atween the heads of the society, and was de- 
cyphering the inscription tew. 

President. — Zack, what air yon snickerin' ont in 
that way about, eh ? 

Zach. — At the stnn, sir. 

President.— Well, what about the stun? 

Zach. — At the wards, sir. 

President. — Hah ! at the words, eh ? Well, what 
do you spell out of them ? come, let us hear you ; and 
the president winked at the society. 

Zach, — (a'ter wiping his nose and lickin' his lips, 
read right out,) — ■ 

IT-IS-A-PUJS T KIiSr-IT-TS n 

And so it was, a consarned dried up, petrified pun- 
kin, that had dried up more one way than t'other. A'ter 
votin' a medal to the cliski^erer of this inscription, our 
society adjourned. 

It is a purty ginerally conceded fact, that man is a 
queer critter, and that when he aint movin' about, he's 
doin' suthin' else. This pint bein' conceded, we pass 
on tew remark, that the first race which sot down in 
"New England, were of this movin' round kind of crit- 
ters, and I reckon they hev fixed a leetle mite of their 
stirrin' round propensities upon the ginerations that fol- 
lowed a'ter. This part of our subject may not account 
for the milk in the cocoa nut, but it does account for 
why your humble sarvint is here. All owin' tew his 
New England propensity for stirrin' round. Well, 
hevin' settled this pint, we'll pass on tew consider the 
next. It has been ginerally thought, that the airly in- 
habitants of JSTew England all came from some place, 
and I guess they did. What's more, they found a place 



LECTURE ON NEW ENGLAND. 239 

to tew conie tew, when they came. This, in some mea- 
sure, accounts for the ancient sayin', that " you'll be 
there when you git tew the place. Well, a'ter eatin' a 
clam-chowder, of which we have sufficient evidence 
that they were desp'rately fond, 'cause the shells air 
scattered about promiscuously, these airly ISTew Eng- 
landers sot to work at makin' themselves tew hum, and 
they succeeded a'ter a fashion. The fashion hes ben 
found to be a tolerable good one tew, for their posteri- 
ty stick tew the same way of gettin' along, even unto 
the present gmeration. "Well, as I was sayin', they 
made themselves at hum. Where they landed, there 
was considerable sand, some stuns, and a leetle dash of 
water, and from sartin' hieroglyphical evidence, we air 
enabled tew make out that they were jest about as 
hard headed a race as ever made up their minds tew 
settle down wherever they had a mind tew. It aint 
exactly known whether they came in a hickory canoe, 
or a birch basket, but jedgin' from the way ISTew Eng- 
land schoolmasters use these tew kinds of woods, our 
historical society hev settled down intew the opinion, 
that they came in both. Select men were chosen and 
appointed in them days to rule over the people, and 
they in turn used tew select some of the people tew be 
ruled over, and they ginerally did this rulin' with a rod. 
In modern New England varsion, the select men air 
" old flints," I reckon, 'cause some of 'em air a leetle 
flinty -hearted. Talkin' of flints brings me tew an im- 
portant pint in my subject, and that is BOCKS. Nigh 
ontew all on you hev heerd about the Rock of Plymouth, 
and if you hevn't, it's a darned shame, for it's often 
enough talked about, The ancient inhabitants of New 
England, beyond dispute, landed on this rock, and they 



240 LECTURE ON NEW ENGLAND. 

found it a purty solid, steady kind of footin'. From 
this fact grew out the common savin' that New England 
is the land of steady habits. How could they be other- 
wise, when they commenced on so solid a foundation ? 
Without runnin' this rock intew the ground, I'd like 
to say suthin' about its antiquity. It is purty ginerally 
conceded that afore it was diskivered, it had staid in 
the same place a purty long spell — mabbe anterior to 
Adam ! Who knows ? I'll be darned if I dew. All 
I know, and all it's necessary for me tew find out is, 
that it is there, and I rather guess, a'ter I hev handled 
it a leetle mite there, I'll leave it. It is known tew be, 
by a kind of human cal'lation, an all-sufficient sight 
older than the Egyptian pyramids, and anterior tew the 
present times, at least 5000 years. Our society aint 
ben able, as yet, tew trace the Polk name down tew 
the airly dynasties of the select men, but I reckon we 
will find it out. We hev, however, in our archilogical 
diggin' diskivered the word Pillow, but whether it was 
any relation tew Gideon Pillow, is not yet sartin'. The 
word is thought tew hev a soft meanin', but larnin' tew 
read hieroglyphics, we hev ascertained that a man 
aamed Jacob, who was lost in the wilderness, pilloioed 
upon a stun. Now, Gideon bein' also ancient, a spirit 
of deduction nat'rally leads us tew Pillow, and then 
•Jacob pints out the stun, and here, you see, we slide 
right back tew rock from where we started. j 

The Arabs, by which we mean the modern portion on 
'em, used to visit Plymouth Rock, and break off pieces 
of the stun, out of which propensity grew the common 
sayin' " I'd a good deal rather crack rock." Antiqua- 
rians, tew, visited the old spot, and used tew fill their 
pockets with pieces of the stun, which give rise tew the 



LECTURE ON NEW ENGLAND. 241 

modern expression, " Sech a fellow is in town with a 
pocket full of rocks" 

The next stun, or I should say pile of stuns, is the 
Monument, and usin' the words of a celebrated New 
England savan, " there it stands /" and you couldn't, 
very easy, make it dew anythin' else. It is situated on 
Buuker Hill, named after old Joe JlunJcer, who used 
to make shoes rite down at the hill foot. Whether the 
rest of the spot and Hills in gineral were named arter 
my own ancestors, I aint yet diskivered, but in future 
explorations I hev hopes of findin' out, on some Hill, 
a key-stun pintin' out the gratifyin' fact that your lec- 
turer is descended from a ginoine old settler. When 
this obelisk began tew be histed up, is a period only 
known to tew the " oldest inhabitant." Sartain curious 
inscriptions, buried in a hollow stun beneath its base, 
tells us all about it, but I aint seen 'em, nor I don't ex- 
pect- tew soon do, but I know they are there, 'cause 
somebody told me. The great distinguishin' featur' 
about this stupendous mountain of stun is the fact that 
they begun tew fix it up from the top down. I guess 
now, mabbe some on you don't b'lieve this, but if I 
could only git you all intew a mesmeric state, you'd see 
it jest as easy — I might say, jest as easy as if you had 
your eyes shet. Some dew say that clairvoyance is a 
regular " open and shet ;" how this is, I leave you tew 
cypher out by your own nat'ral bent of genius y while I 
proceed tew explain how the Bunker Hill obelisk was 
built downward. From a cute and sarehin' investiga- 
tion, I hev diskivered that the hull pile of rock is cap- 
ped by one stun. Now, how could the pile be put up 
under that stun % I reckon we hev now arriv at the 
pint of the subject. As I said before, it is not one stun 



24:2 LECTUKE ON NEW ENGLAND. 

but a whole pile — now, there you hev it — how is it 
going to git up ? By this simple process — (simj)le when 
you know it) — and there it is, jest like Zachariah Demp- 
son's new patent machine for manufacturin' the wind 
intew short-cake, by the simple process of mesmerising 
the top stun, and making it stay there, at jest the height 
they wanted tew elevate the pile above the airth. 
Now you can see easy that when the mesmeric power 
could hold one stun up, it was desp'rate easy tew 
hitch the other stuns tew the fluid, and by drawin' your 
hand down so, (manipulates^) stick 'em so consarned 
fast that an airthquake couldn't shake 'em loose. I 
don't wonder some of you opin your eyes, for the 
progress of this age, in the onward march of antiqua- 
rian research, new diskiveries, and everlastin' upturnin' 
of new things, keep continually putting the cap-stun on 
all preconceived notions. I would jest refer you, — and 
this pile is an astounding illustration of the remarkable 
difference at ween the ancient New Englanders and the 
ancient Egyptians. It'll strike you in a moment, and 
it'll show you what a dark and be-nighted set they were, 
as you get east'ard, while as you get west'ard, as far as 
the eastern part of this continent, it'll be diskivered 
that mankind grew cute and cunnin' — y-e-s they did ! 
The poor yallar-skinned Asiatics, had no more sense, — 
I swow I've a propensity tew bust rite intew a regular 
roar, when I think that a people who looked so ripe as 
to be yaller, could be so darnation green. Would you 
b'lieve it ? — I guess you'll find it hard tew — these be- 
nighted rpeople writ down the history of their mona- 
ments right on their face, jest where every fellar who 
tuck the trouble tew larn, could read it right out in 
meetin' if he'd a mind tew. I say, they writ it right 



LECTUEE ON NEW ENGLAND. 243 

down on the stun, so it couldn't be washed out with the 
rain of centuries. Now can you see the Egyptin' dark- 
ness of these poor critters. How is it on t'other side ? 
How, and what distinguishes the ancient New England 
monainent builders ? What shows their cuteness ? I 
kin tell you in a few words, pertinently delivered. The 
New Englanders buried the history of their monaments 
in the solid rock, under the hull pile of stun, and if 
the futur' sarcher a'ter ancient New England antiqui- 
ties wants tew read it, he'll hev tew either know mes- 
merism, or else pull the hull tremenjus obelisk, cap-stun 
and all, down tew find out what it's all about. This is 
what I call cute. It is showin' tew the world that the 
pryin', sneekin'-round, findin'-out propensities of futur' 
ginerations will hev to scratch a few, afore they can 
get intew their secrets. 

We now come tew another head of our lectur', and 

that is. HEARTH-STUNS. 

The last named antiquity has sometimes appeared 
in brick, and then agin' in marble * but who found the 
last brick thrown in, or at this head of the discourse, 
our society aint yet decided upon. Where the hearth- 
stun lay, however, and what were its gineral uses, is 
jest as well known tew our society, as the big letters 
in the New England primer. 

How the inhabitants made use of this stun is the 
subject we shall talk on for a spell. I cal'late it was in 
purty constant use. Hieroglyphics relate that Deacon 
Bigelow was seated one evenin' about nine o'clock, on 
this side ; and on t'other side, jest about there, old Mrs. 
Bigelow was sittin' smokin'. A leetle tew the right o' 
Mrs. B., and jest, I may say, in her shadder, was seated 
Abby, the eldest darter, who has jest got in from singin'- 



244 LECTURE ON NEW ENGLAND. 

school ; and rite opposite tew her is Jedediah Peabody, 
a spruce, sniart-lookin' young fellar, son of old Deacon 
Peabody, who has ben seein' Nabby hum from the 
singin' class. Just about there, frontin' the tire, is 
seated the deacon's eleventh child, and as he is the last, 
of course he is a pet. He kin jest talk plain, and seein' 
Jed come in with Abby, his eyes are about as wide 
open, as it could be expected any young critter's would 
stretch at his tender years. He sees Jed wink at Abby, 
(Oh/) and now he watches Abby, and sees her look 
pleased, and shake her head at Jed. (Good gracious !) 
And so he eyes one, and then t'other, his astonishment 
growin' on him every minnit, until his Ma says : 

Mrs. B. — Deacon Bigelow, is the cattle critters fed ? 

Deacon. — (Sleepy) — Well, I reckon Isaiah has gin 
'em suthin', and afore this litter'd 'em down. . 

Mrs. B. — Is the kindlin' wood brought in tew ? 

Deacon. — Yes, y-e-s, my dear, all is r-i- 

Mrs. B. — Then come along, git up and let us go tew 
bed. You, Abby, mind you kiver the fire up, and 
fasten the door afore you come tew bed ; and you, Jed, 
its time you were tew hum. Gideon, git up, my child, 
and dew let us all git tew bed. 

Off they go, and out in the hall little Gid commences 
tew blow on Abby. 

Gideon. — Ma, you ourt tew take your birch tew Jed 
Peabody. 

Ma. — Why, my derr boy, what did Jed dew ? 

Gideon. — He kept all the time makin' mouths at 
Abby. 

Deacon. — Toddle along, Gid, and shet up. 

Gideon. — Shet up ! I guess I seed him dew wus 



LECTURE' ON NEW ENGLAND. 245 

than that ; he bit her the other night right on her lips, 
I seed him, so I did. 

We will now return to the hearth-stun. Jed has ben 
hitchin' his cheer 'round tew Abby, and by hieroglyphi- 
cal devices we larn that he gits his cheer chuck up agin 
her's, and by the progressive rule by which we decy- 
pher the first part, we conclude that Jed has ben at it 
agin, the darned critter has ben kissin' her ; as young 
Gid calls it, bitiir her on the lips agin. 

From the blue-book papyrus, presarved as a relic of 
the reg'lar old mummeys who first gathered round Ply- 
mouth rock, we larn that kissin' was so prevalent in the 
airly clays of JSTew England, that the young folks were 
at it, not only on every day in the week, but Sunday 
tew ; and, therefore, it was found necessary tew put a 
stop to it on the seventh, by law. I reckon that, like 
in modern times, the young folks among the ancients 
sot Sunday aside as a day upon which to dew up purty 
considerable of that interestin' kind of labor. 

The heart of every true New Englander reveres this 
hearth-stun, for around it, no matter whether it be of 
brick or marble, gathers the loved associations of hum. 
It is endeared to him by the memory of a venerated 
father, the fond care of a gentle mother, the sweet love 
of a bright-eyed sister, or the manly friendship and af- 
fection of a brother. In infancy he has crowed with 
glee at the bright blaze which flashed from its surface 
— in youth he has listened in wonder, beside it, to the 
related history of his Puritan ancestors— in manhood 
he has whispered a tale of love in the ear of beauty, by 
the border of this old hearth-stun, and sealed on the 
fair lips of virtue, the pledge of unending attachment ; 
and in old age, on Thanksgiving Day, he has gathered 



246 LECTURE ON NEW ENGLAND. 

around it his children and his children's children, and 
like a patriarch of old, thanked his Creator that he 
lived to hear again the sweet music of his kindreds' 
voices. The hieroglyphic seal of this old stun is in- 
scribed on the heart's tablet of every genuine Yankee. 



THE END. 



LIST OF BOOKS 



FOR SALE BY 



GW^JESJES-ESTT? cfe Co. 

No. 18 ANN-STEEET, NEW-YORK. 



I P. SMITH'S CELEBRATED WOBKS. 

HARRY ASHTON; OR, THE WILL AND THE WAY. Beautifully illustrated. 
This is another new novel hy the gifted author of " Gus Howard," and surpasses in 
point of ingenuity of intrigue and skilful combination, any of this writer's former ef- 
forts. It has had immense success in London, where it has run through one »f the 
weekly journals of that city, the circulation of which has been increased many thou- 
sands by its great popularity. 

"ELLEN LEVERE; OR, THE WAY OF THE WILL." Beautifully illus- 
trated. 
The present is the only complete and unmutilated edition of this great work now be- 
fore the public. Any one can satisfy himself of this fact by examining the various 
editions in market. The work now offered contains SIXTEEN chapters more than are 
embraced in any rival edition. 

ROMANTIC INCIDENTS IN THE LIVES OF THE QUEENS OF ENGLAND. 

12mo. Beautifully bound in cloth, with splendid illustrations. 
With such material the prosiest writer could hardly fail to make a readable book ; 
what then must it be in the hands of a writer who has enriched literature with such 
productions as "Stanfield Hall" and "Amy Lawrence"? Just such a book as we 
should look for from such an author. A book which, while historical truth is never sacri- 
ficed, fairly swarms with characters and incidents as full of interest as the wildest 
romance. A book that gives the reader a clear insight into the thoughts, manners, and 
actions of the people of past ages, than can be gleaned from the pages of Stowe, of Lin- 
gard, or of Hume. 

MINNIE GREY; OR, WHO IS THE HEIR. Beautifully illustrated from designs 
by Gilbert. 216 octavo pages. The London Literary World says " Minnie Grey," 
as a Literary performance, is well worthy of a place beside the noble Productions 
of Scott and Dumas. 

GUS HOWARD; OR, HOW TO WIN A WIFE. With illustrations from designs 
by Gilbert. 210 octavo pages. 
This work, by the author of the famous " Stanfield Hall," is written in his very hap 
piest vein. The plot is most artfully designed, and worked out with consummate skill 
The reader's attention is secured at the very outset by the mysterious incidents occur 
ring at the birth of an heir to an ancient family, and the interest thus awakened nevei 
flags until the last page of the entrancing tale is reached. 

AMY LAWRENCE; OR, THE FREEMASON'S DAUGHTER. By J. P. Smith, 
Esq., author of " Stanfield Hall," "Minnie Grey," etc. Beautifully illustrated. 
1 vol., paper, containing 170 large pages, closely printed. 

STANFIELD HALL. A Piomantic Historical Novel. By the author of "Amy Law- 
rence, or the Freemason's Daughter," " Minnie Grey," etc. 2 vols., paper. Thia 
book contains 432 closely printed large octavo pages, and is illustrated with 16 
fine engravings on tinted paper. 
Among the multifarious productions of modern romance writers, this noble wsrk 
stands pre-eminently foremost. It is divided into three parts — each portion illustrative 
of one of the most marked and famous epochs in the history of England. The stirring 
events of these times are worked up with consummate skill by the author, and make up 
a most entertaining romance— a volume that is unparalleled for intense interest by the 
greatest books of either Sue, Dumas, Bulwer, or James. 



GARRETT & CD'S LIST CONTINUED. 



W. H. MAXWELL'S NOVELS. 



THE ADVENTURES OF CAPT. BLAKE. Illustrated. 200 octavo page*. 

" The adventure of Capt. Blake is a thrilling work, replete with adventure, incident, 
character and plot of an exciting description. It will prove one of the roost popular 
novels of the season. The interest excited is very great, and we regret that it will not 
hear such division as would enable us to give an intelligible extract."— Weekly Dispatch. 

THE BIVOUAC ; OR, THE RIVAL SUITORS. With beautiful illustrations. ISM 
octavo pages. 
This capital book is of the " Charles O'Malley " school ; full of dashing adventures, 
love intrigues, brilliant sketches of battle scenes, in which the inspiring headlong charge 
and terrible defeat are detailed with all the force of truth. The warlike descriptions 
will vie with the most animated scenes in Alison or Napier; and the humorous portions 
of the book have no peers but in the pages of Lever or Lover. 

STORIES OF WATERLOO. 112 large octavo pages. 

Maxwell has few equals and no superior as a romance writer. He is equally felicitous 
in all he attempts ; whether he depicts the flashing of the " red artillery," the furious, 
headlong dash of a cavalry charge, the steady tramp of the infantry, and all the other 
pomp and circumstance of war ; or delineates with exquisite skill the emotions of the 
heart. 



BOOKS WORTH READING. 



WOMAN'S LIFE; OR, THE TRIALS OF CAPRICE. By Miss Emilie Carlen, 
author of " The Lover's Stratagem," " Chance and Change ;" or, " The Beautiful 
Proteges." 212 octavo pages. 

THE ADVENTURES OF MICK COSTIGAN; OR, THE LADDER OF GOLD. 

By the author of " Wayside Pictures," etc. Beautifully illustrated. 216 octavo 



COUNT JULIEN; OR, THE LAST DAYS OF THE GOTH. By the author of 
"Guy Rivers," "The Yemassee," etc. 201 octavo pages. 

ROCHESTER; OS, THE MERRY DAYS OF ENGLAND. By the author of 
" The Jesuit," " The Young Chevalier," etc. Beautifully illustrated, containing 
200 octavo pages. 

FAIR ROSAMOND; OR, THE QUEEN'S VICTIM. By the author of "Robin 
Hood," "Quinten Matseys," etc., illustrated. This work contains 232 octavo 
pages. 1 vol. 

CRAIGALLEN CASTLE; OR, THE STOLEN WILL. By Mrs. Core, author of 
" Abednego, The Money Lender," etc. 128 octavo pages. 

THE FORTUNE-TELLER OF SAINTE AVOYE; OR, THE MYSTERIOUS 
STRANGER. By Eugene Sue. Translated from the French by Fayette Robin- 
son. 1 vol., containing 204 octavo pages. 

QUINTEN MATSEYS ; OR, THE BLACKSMITH OF ANTWERP. By Piercb 
Eagan, Esq., author of " Robin Hood," "Fair Rosamond," etc. 1 vol., paper. 
This work contains 224 octavo pages, and is beautifully illustrated. 

R0RY O'MORE, a Romance. By Samuel Lover, author of "Handy Andy," etc. 1 
vol. paper. This work is illustrated, and contains 230 octavo pages. 
" Man is the only animal endowed with tly .faculty of Laughter, and why should he 
not, then, on all fitting occasions, carry uv .the happy designs of his creator? He 
should — he should ! and not merely with the cynical grin of a dyspeptic hyena neither, 
but in good, round, hilarious, window-rattling bursts, such as almost every page of Lov- 
er's Irish Stories will throw him into."— Saturday Courier. 
2 



GARRETT & CD'S LIST CONTINUED. 

HARRY BURNHAM, THE YOUNG CONTINENTAL; OR, THE ADVEN- 
TURES OF AN OFFICER OF THE REVOLUTION. By H. Buckingham, 

Esq. 1 vol. paper, containing 256 closely printed large octavo pages. 

No American can read this interesting tale without being at once a wiser and a better 
man. 

Harry Burnham will furnish, though dressed in the alluring ?arb cf romance, a relia- 
ble narrative of the Continental War — with incidents of patriotism, and anecdotes 
hitherto unrecorded that mast make it valuable as a textbook to the student of Amer- 
ican History. 

THE MYSTERIES OF THE PEOPLE. By Eugene Sue, author of "The Myste- 
ries of Paris," etc. 1 vol. paper, containing 194 pages closely printed. So admi- 
rably written is this incomparable book, that all the vigilance of the French spies 
and police have been unable to prevent the circulation of millions of copies in 
every department of France. 

NEW-YORX IN SLICES ; OR A GUIDE FOR YOUNG MEN WHO VISIT 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS. By an Experienced Carver. Being the original 
slices published in the N. Y. Tribune. With numerous illustrations. Contain- 
ing 128 pages. 
This is a rare book. Any person that reads it will never get taken in. 



NEWTON M. CURTISS'S WORKS. 



THE RANGER OF RAVENSTREAM. A TALE OF THE REVOLUTIONARY 

WAR. 110 pages. 
THE HUNTED CHIEF; OR, THE FEMALE BANDIT, A Tale of the Mexican 

War. 

THE PATROL OF THE MOUNTAIN; OR, THE DAYS OF 1776. 

THE SCOUT OF THE SILVER POND. A Tale of the American Revolution. 

THE MATRICIDE'S DAUGHTER. A TALE OF LIFE LN THE GREAT 

METROPOLIS. 
THE VICTIM'S REVENGE. (A Sequel.) 
THE STAR OF THE FALLEN. A Sequel to the above. 



G-. W. M. REYNOLDS' NOVELS. 



MASTER TIMOTHY'S BOOK-CASE ; OR. THE MAGIC LANTERN OF THE 
WORLD. With numerous and beautiful illustrations, containing 200 large oc- 
tavo pages. 

ANGELA WILDON; OR, THE MYSTERIES OF ALTENDORF CASTLE. 2 

vols, paper. This work contains 440 pages, and is beautifully illustrated. 
This is unquestionably the best of G-. W. M. Reynold's books. The scenes are thrilling 
in the extreme ; the characters boldly drawn and admirably contrasted — the good with 
the bad. There is not a solitary paragraph that does not tend to the development of 
some horrible mystery. Numerous engravings, of uncommon excellence, illustrate 
many of the extraordinary incidents which are thickly strewn through the book. 

THE MYSTERIES OF OLD LONDON; OR, THE DAYS OF HOGARTH. 

This is a thrilling Novel, written in Mr. Reynolds' best vein. It contains 307 
large octavo pages. 
ROBERT MACAIRE ; OR, THE FRENCH BANDIT IN ENGLAND. Hand- 
somely illustrated, containing 184 octavo pages. 



GARRETT & C01S LIST CONTINUED, 



NEW BOOKS NOW READY. 



MINNIE LAWSON; OR, THE OUTLAWS LEAGUE. A Tale of My Lite. By 
Ghabi.es Redswan. 



OR, THE FATE OF TEE UN- 



THE CRUISE OF THE WHITE SQUALL; 
HEARD OF. By Ned Bcntline. 

RAVESSDALE; OS, THE FATAL DUEL. By the author of » The First False 
Step," " Rose Sommerville," etc. 

THE MIDNIGHT QUEEN; OR, LEAVES FROM NEW-YORK LIFE. By 

Georse Lippabd, Esq. 
This is a new Novel, by the gifted author of " The Quaker City," which created a 
great " furor" some years ago. It is a spirited picture of New- York Life. The Thea- 
tres, the Ball Rooms, the Gaming Tables, and every other place of amusement in the 
Great Metropolis, receive due attention. The characters are drawn with a mastt-rlv 
hand, and truthfully represent every cast, from the Broadway roue to the Bowery 
B'hoy. 

JIM BUNT; OR, LIFE AFLOAT AND A3H0RE. By the Old Sailor. Thi* 

is an exciting romance of the Ocean, and ie fully equal to any of Capt. Maryatt's 
Novel ». 

THE PIRATE DOCTOR; OR, THE EXTRAORDINARY CAREER OF A 
NEW-YORK PHYSICIAN. By a Naval Officer. 
This is a true Narrative of the career of a New- York Physician, who practised his 
profession in this city, and afterwards became a notorious pirate. The Story is well 
told, and abounds with the most thrilling incidents of wild adventures on the ocean. 
Some estimate may be formed of the excitement created by this work, when we inform 
our readers that it originally appeared in the columns of the " Sunday Dispatch," and 
the circulation of that paper was increased over 8,000 copies. 

THE WHEEL OF MISFORTUNE; OR, THE VICTIMS OF LOTTERY AND 
POLICY DEALERS. A Yarn from the Web of New- York Life. By Ned 

BUNTLINB. 



NED BUNTLINE'S WORKS. 



THE MYSTERIES AND MISERIES OF NEW-YORK A Story of Real Life. 2 
vols., paper, containing over 400 pages. 

THREE YEARS AFTER. A Sequel to the Mysteries and Miseries of New- York. 1 
vol., paper, containing 175 pages. 

TH3 B'HOYS OF NEW- YORK. A Sequel to the Mysteries and Miseries of New- 
York. 1 vol., paper, containing 194 pages* 

THS CONVICT; OR, THE CONSPIRATOR'S VICTIM. A Novel written in 
prison, containing 297 pages. 

NED BUNTLINE'S LIFE YARN. Being a narrative of his adventures, &c Writ- 
ten by himself. 1 vol. paper, containing 192 pages. 

NORWOOD; OR, LIFE ON THE PRAIRIES. A thrilling Story of Western 
Adventure. 



21 farming Homaweof Domestic Cife. 



WOMAN'S LIFE; 



OR 



Til TRXAM Of GAPRIOB. 

JBir EmiMe Carlen 9 

AUTHOR OF " THE BIRTHRIGHT," ". ROSE OF TISLETON," ETC. 

Price 50 Cents. 

Here is a work whose signal superiority over the every-day contributions to literature 
will insure it readers by tens of thousands. It is one of those rare productions whose first 
appearance is the forerunner of another great name in the world of letters. " Waverley" 
introduced the genius of one destined to command the admiration of his own, and of all 
subsequent generations ; the " Pickwick Papers" did the same for the illustrious author 
of " Bleak House ;" and " Woman's Life," will be found to have performed a similar ser- 
vice for Emelie Carlen. The work is a monument of the most sterling genius. It is rich 
in all the elements of a great work ; and while it fascinates by the intensity of its interest, 
it also commands tho admiration of the judgment by the superiority of its finish. The 
work abounds with incidents of a probable and natural sort— is filled with characters 
nicely discriminated, and is made the vehicle of a high and noble moral, showing the in- 
fluence and redeeming powers of character. Miss Carlen writes with a delicacy, purity 
and vividness, which challenge our highest admiration. Her "Woman's Life" will be 
regarded as an important event in the history of literature : and the beauty and freshness 
of its highly interesting pages will insure it an immediate and wide spread popularity. — 
London Weekly Dispatch. 

Such a story as " Woman's Life" could not fail to be welcomed by us. The tale is one 
which every true novel-reader will thank us for recommending to him. — Athenceum. 

There is great interest in the book. Nothing can surpass the fascination of the scenes 
in which the heroine struggles against a passion to which her heart has entirely surren- 
dered, while her pride would yet stubbornly resist its influence. In many of these scenes 
the effect is quite charming, reminding us of the love of Miss Milner and Dorriforth, in 
Mrs. Inchbald's " Simple Story. "—Examiner. 

A more spirited and interesting novel we have never read • with more of life than any 
of Miss Bremer's works, possessing the same kind of home interest as that charming ro- 
mance, "The Initials," pure in tone, and equally free from exaggerated sentiment and 
stupid commonplace. — Literary World. 

jg®= Copies of the above justly celebrated work will be 6ent to any one by return of 
mail, on the receipt of 50 cents in a letter. Address the letter to the Publishers, and then 
receive the work by return of mail, Postage free. 

GAREETT & CO., Pulishers, 

No. 18 Ann Street, New York. 



IN PREPARATION AND WILL BE SHORTLY PUBLISHED. 

A BOOK FOR THE CAR, THS BOAT, THE STAGE AND THE FIRE-SIDE. 

& Book not for a Dan, but for all time anb Places. 




MRS. PARTINGTON'S 

f ®4S ©t WWM* 

Containing the Queer sayings of Mrs. Partington, and the 
Funny doings of her remarkable Son, Isaac, 

Also, the most amusing collection extant, of Playful Puns, Priceless Toems, Pleasing 
Prose, Popular Parodies, and Political Pasquinades, Rhyme without Reason and Reason 
without Rhyme, Anecdotes, Conundrums, Anagrams, and in fact all kinds of Funny Grams 

LLUSTRATED WITH ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY MOST AMUSING ENGRAVINGS. 



Prepared express- 
ly for this work 
from designs by the 
most eminent comic 
! Artists of the day, 
viz.— 




McLean, Leech, 

Phiz, Hine, Hen- 

n i n g, F e n n 1 e 1 , 

s^S^-> Cruickshank, Doyle 



W§^ G °° ter ' Maffee ' &C * I 



Consisting of Initial Letter.?, Illustrations to short Stories, new readings from old Au" 
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Pieces. The whole arranged with the view to make it the most amusing work of the 
kind ever published, anu at the same time entirely free from every thing coarse or vul- 
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It will be published in time for the Holidays, (for which it will be an elegant and appro- 
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JSP Copies of the above work will be sent to any person by return of ma;l, en receipt 
of the price endorsed in a letter, to 

GARRETT & CO., 
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15,000 COPIES SOLD! 



1 



OR, 

WHO IS THE HEIE ? 

By the Author Of "Amy Lawrence," n Gus How- 
ard ; or, How to Win a wife," " Stanfield 
Hall," "Harry Ashton," Etc. 

BEAUTIFULLY ILLUSTRATED WITH DESIGNS FROM THE ENGLISH EDITION. 

Price 50 Cents. 

This is without doubt one of the most fascinating books that ever we had the pleasure 
of perusing. Written by the same pen to which we are indedted for " Amy Lawrence," 
&c. , one opens it with a hope that an intellectual feast is in store for him. Nor is he dis- 
appointed. As a romance, there is nothing objectionable about it. The most fastidious 
in these matters might read it with profit to themselves, and, having read, could not fail 
to recommend its perusal to others. A glance at its welcome pages recalls the pleasure of 
a first acquaintance with the charming heroine, at that pleasing period when, like Spring 
and Summer, girlhood and womanhood are blending, when the sylph-like outline begins 
to fill, the form becomes more round, and the step, without losmg its elasticity, firmer ; 
and we earnestly follow her through many trials, patiently and heroically borne, until she 
is united with Gus Howard, the hero of the story. 



GUS HOWARD; 

OR, 

HOW TO WW A WIFE. 

By the Author of " Minnie Grey," " Amy Lawrence," 
" Stanfield Hall," Etc 
DBeA.-u.t1fvt.ll3r Xll-ULsrtxrfitocl. 

Pi^ice 50 Cents. 

The " Quebec Mercury," in a criticism of this work, -says :— " Gus may, par excellence, 
claim the title of hero ; for certainly, in the whole range of our acquaintance with light 
literature, we have no where met with any character whose lot it had been to be the 
sport of greater vicissitudes of fortune than those experienced by Gus Howard, afterwards 
Earl of Eserick. The dramatic interest of the plot ; the skilful manner in which it is 
wrought out ; the high, daring and noble qualities of the chief hero, and of his friend, 
Frank Wilton ; the resistless fascination hovering round the lovely Minney Grey, all com- 
bine to form a story of thrilling interest, extraordinary adventures, and hair-breadth es- 
capes, as well as in scenes of deep and tender pathos. The interest never flags ; and the 
attention of the reader is absorbed until the very last, in tracing the eventful career of 
the hero and the heroine." 

j®SS— Copies of either of the above justly celebrated works will be sent to any one by re- 
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Published and for sale by GABRETT & CO., 

No. 18 Ann Street, New York. 



A NEW NOVEL, EQUAL TO CHARLES O'MALLEY. 



THE BIVOUAC; 




BY WM. H, MAXWELL, 

Author of "Hector O'Halloran" " Stories of Water- 
loo," " Wild Sports of the West," Etc. 
Beautifully Illustrated—Price 50 Cents. 

This Capital Book is of the " Charles O'Malley" school — full of dashing adventures, love 
intrigues, brilliant sketches of battle scenes, in which the inspiring headlong charge and 
terrible defeat are detailed with all the forces of truth. The Bivouac belongs, as we have 
said, to a popular class of books, and we think it decidedly the very best of its class. 
We have not the space, though we have a strong inclination, to give our readers a taste 
of its quality — to reprint at length the matchless scene of the lovers meeting the fortune- 
teller in the gloom of the forest : the appalling interview, and the grave -stories in the 
church-yard, at midnight : the droll dialogues of the regimental mess-table ; the eloquent 
description of the encampment of the rival armies ; the fearful carnage of the battle- 
field ; the prodigies of valor performed during the mountain combat ; the richly-humorous 
" confessions of a gentlemau who would have married if he could ;" and a dozen other 
delineations marked in evar«y page by some bold trait of wit or genius. The war-like 
descriptions will vie with the most animated scenes in Allison or Napier ; and the 
humorous portions of the book have no peers but in the pages of Lever or Lover. — Morn- 
ing Star. 



A HUMOROUS NOVEL, BY THE AUTHOR OF "HANDY ANDY," 



RORY O'MORE, A ROMANCE, 

Bg 0amuel Cotur, 

Author of iC Handy Andy,' 1 Etc. 

Price 50 Cents. 
This "Work is Illustrated, and Contains 230 Octavo Pages. 

"Man is the only animal endowed with the faculty of Laughter, and why should he 
not, then, on all fitting occasions, carry out the happy designs of his creation ? He 
should — he should ! and not merely with the cynical grin of a dyspeptic hyena neither, 
but in good, round, hilarious, window-rattling bursts, such as almost every page of 
Lover's Irish Stories will throw him into. — Saturday Courier. 

J8Gg= Copies of either of the above justly celebrated works will be sent to any one by 
return of mail, on the receipt of the price in a letter. Address the letter to the Publishers, 
and you will then receive the work by return of mail, free of Postage. 

Published and for sale by GARRETT & CO., 

No. 18 Ann Streeet New York. 



A BOOK FOR FIRESIDE AMUSEMENT. 



Biro VgJfejmttSmcB's 

COMIC LECTURES; 

•1 Budget of 

'WIT AND 1UII0E; 

OR, MORSELS OF 

MIRTH FOR THE MELANCHOLY: 

ACERTAIN CURE FOR "THE BLUES," 

AND ALL OTHER 

§tli©n§ i©itfi4iif§i 

COMPRISING 

COMIC LECTURES ON HEADS. FACES, NOSES, MOUTHS 
ANIMAL MAGNETISM, &c, WITH SPECIMENS OF 
ELOQUENCE, TRANSACTIONS OF LEARNED 
SOCIETIES, DELINEATION OF EC- 
CENTRIC CHARACTERS. 
COMIC SONGS, 
&o. &c. 

BY DR. ¥. VALENTINE, 

THE FAVORITE DELINEATOR OE ECCENTRIC CHARACTERS. 

ILLUSTRATED WITH 

TWELVE PORTRAITS OF DR. VALENTINE, 

IN HIS MOST CELEBRATED CHARACTERS. 

Price 50 Cents. 

The Following are some of the Notices of this Work, 

New Works. — Dr. Valentine's Comic Lectures. — The author of these Lectures is well 
known throughout the country as a man of a great deal of comic power. He has creat- 
ed a vast amount of amusement in this day, and has at length concluded to give the 
world the benefit of his series of Lectures — which have provoked so much laughter — in 
print. The book is well printed, and is embellished with several portraits of the Doctor 
in his various characters. — Prentice, of the Louisville Journal. 

A handsome volume of 192 pages, a real budget of wit and humor, in the shape of " Comic 
Lectures, Delineations, Eccentric Characters, Comic Songs," &c. &c, of the well-known 
Dr. Valentine. It contains twelve engravings, all of which are most excellent. The Doc- 
tor is known far and near as one of the most mirth-and-fun-provoking fellows living, and 
this book is in every respect typical of himself. — Louisville Adv. 

No one can possibly read it without enjoying its humor. It is a perfect care-dispeller. 
Our fair readers ma) rely upon there being nothing in the book approximating in the 
slighest degree to indelicacy. — Godey's Lady's Book. 

jg®=* Copies of the above work mailed to any address in the Union, Postage Free, on 
receipt of 50 cents, prepaid, addressed to GARRETT, & CO., Publishers, 

No. 18 Ann street, New York. 



^ <3xtat historical Homance. 



•In, Historical Romance. 



BY THE AUTHOR OF 

" Amy Lawrence," " Minnie Grey ; or, Who is the 

Heir?" ll Harry Ashton ; or, The Will and 

The Way,' 1 Etc. 

" Among the multifarious productions of modern Romance writers, this noble work 
stands pre-eminently foremost. It is divided into three parts — each portion illustrative 
of one of the most marked and famous epochs in the history of England. In the first 
portion, the author gives us a series of brilliant pictures descriptive of the peculiar char- 
acteristics of the brave but rude and stubborn Saxons, and their equally valiant but more 
polished and chivalrous antagonists, the haughty Normans. Since the magic wand of 
Scott has been broken, no writer has depicted in such powerful and glowing colors the 
various grades of feudal life. 

" In the second part, the scene shifts to one of the most exciting periods of English his- 
tory—the reign of the royal Bluebeard, Henry VIII. , who ' never spared a man in his an- 
ger or a woman in his lust ; ' and admirably has our author performed his difficult task. 
The high dramatic interest of the plot ; the developments of Court intrigues, in love and 
politics ; the perils and adventures of the hero and heroine of the story ; the rapid, unin- 
terrupted sweep of the narrative, which seems to bear the reader with it, and render him 
an actual spectator of the stormy scenes of that stormy era, stamp the work as one of the 
greatest historic and chivalric Romances since the days of Sir Walter Scott. Never were 
characters more nicely discriminated or more vividly portrayed. The sensual tyrant; 
his fair, ill-fated Queen ; the astute, ambitious and indomitable Woolsey, and his inimitable 
jester, all seem to live, breathe, and move once more at the potent bidding of the author. 

" The third book contains the most graphic delineations of the peculiar characteristics 
of that renowned champion of the people's rights, Oliver Cromwell, and the ill-starred 
Charles, that have ever yet been given, either by historian or romancist. All those stir- 
ring incidents are worked up with consummate skill by the author, and make up a most 
entertaining romance — a volume that is uparalleled for intense tragic interest, by the 
greatest books of either Sue, Dumas, Bulwer, or James." 

This work is published entire, from the English edition, with all the illustrations in two 
large handsome volumes. Price One Dollar. 

J8ST* Copies of the above work will be sent to any person by return of mail, on receipt 
of the price endorsed in a letter, to 

OABBETT & CO., Publishers, 

18 Ann Street, New York. 



QV ©grilling Uomance. 



1 



I M 1 




THE FREEMASON'S DAUGHTER. 

BY THE AUTHOR OF 

" Minnie Grey, or the Ancestral Curse" " Stanfield 
Hall," " T/ie m» a«rf Z7*e .JPay," efc. 

__ Beautifully Illustrated.— Price 50 Cents. 

This is a cheap reprint of a truly excellent Novel, that has had a very extensive sale 
ever since its first appearance, which will continue unabated until every lover of light 
literature has read the work. As a Romance, there is nothing objectionable about it ; the 
most fastidious in these matters might read it with profit to themselves, and having read 
it, could not fail to recommend its perusal to others. A glance at its welcome pages re- 
calls the pleasure of a first acquaintance with the charming heroine, at the pleasing period 
when, like spring and summer, girlhood and womanhood are blending:, when the sylph- 
like outline begins to fill, the form becomes round, and the step, without losing its elas- 
ticity, firmer — and we earnestly follow her through many trials patiently and heroically 
borne— through her womanhood and widowhood — until she is united to Henry 
Beacham, who Is as faithful a lover as the long suffering Dobbin in " Vanity Fair. " Amy 
Lawrence" is emphatically a " Lady's Book," but it has rejoiced the heart of many a 
hardened old sinner of the sterner sex ; for as the General's faithful old adherent, Rigid, 
observes, speaking of Amy, " she is an Angel ; I have not been deceived in her." 
Neither will you, gentle reader — British Whig. 



il41S4tl4S ®A3?&&$ 

OR, 

THE STOLEN WILL. 

BY MRS. GORE, 

Authoress of "Abednego, the Money Lender," Etc. 

Price 25 Cents. 

This is the title of a new romance from the pen of Mrs. Gore, deservedly esteemed one 
of the very best writers of the age. We know not that we have ever been so deeply 
moved by the delineation of fictitious woes, as during our perusal of this heart-melting 
tale. The interest of the story is based upon the secret marriage of a wealthy young 
merchant, to a young, innocent, and trusting girl, whom circumstances prevent 
from ever seeing the father of her chi^d, after the evening of the consummation of her 
nuptials. Her child, the heir of Craigallan Castle, is thwarted for many years by the 
machinations of a double-dyed villian, Ludovico, whose hellish schemes are, however, 
finally frustrated ; but not before the youthful heir and his affianced sweetheart pass 
through perils of the most trying description, which are depicted with matchless force 
and naturalness. The book is one that must have an immense sale, if merit meets with 
its deserts. 

j&S~ Copies of either of the above justly celebrated works will be sent to any one by 
return of mail, on the receipt of the price in a letter. Address the letter to the Publishers, 
and you will then receive the work by return of mail, free of Postage. 

Published and for sale by GARRETT & CO., 

No. 18 Ana Street, New York. 



THE GREAT WORK NOW READY 

HARRY ASHTON; 

OR, 

THE WILL AND THE WAY. 

BY THE AUTHOR OF 

11 Amy Lawrence." " Stanfield Hall » « Gus Howard," 

"Minney Grey," etc. 

Beautifully Illustrated* 

Price 50 Gents, 

This is another new Novel by the gifted author of " Gus Howard," and surpasses in point 
of ingenuity of intrigue and skillful combination any of this writer's former efforts. It has had 
immense success in London, where it has run through one of the weekly journals of that 
city, the circulation of which has been increased many thousands by its great popu'arity. 

Whoever has admired the deep interest and dramatic descriptions in " Stanfield Hall," 
and " Amy Lawrence," must certainly pronounce Harry Ashton to be equally felicitious 
and effective in these points. The author, without in the least imitating, has strongly re- 
minded us of the wit, gallantry, and adventurous spirit so conspicuous in Lever's works. 
The work is destined to have a great sale. 

A BOOK EQUAL TO MONTE CR1STO. 



ELLEN DEVERE; 



OR, 



BY THE AUTHOR OF 

"HARRY ASHTON," ETC., 

Containing 194 pages, which is 44 more 'than is embraced in any rival 
edition. 

Price only 25 Cents. 

The romantic character of this remarkable tale, blended with the profusion of incidents, 
and the powerful descriptive episodes, render it one of the most impressive and agreeable 
works of fiction that have appeared for many years. All of the tales by Mr. J. F. Smith 
exhibit a flowing style of description, and a knowledge of life, that one turns to with 
pleasure, after the ordinary vapidities of the novel press ; and in none of his works has 
he concentrated all of his varied powers with more effect, than in the present romance. 
There is a charming him seance observable in many parts of it, that remind us of Dumas ; 
and in the chapters of passions where the heart is under the strong influence of Love, 
Hate, Revenge or Jealousy, the author far eclipses even the greatest efforts of the famous 
French novelist. 

The present is the only complete and un mutilated edition of this great Work now before 
the public. Any one can satisfy himself of this fact by examining the various editions in 
the market. The work now offered contains eighty-two Chapters, being sixteen chapters 
more than are embraced in any rival edition. 

J8®~ Copies of either of the above justly celebrated works will be sent to any one by re- 
turn of mail, on the receipt of the price in a letter. Address the letter to the Publishers, and 
you will then receive the work by return mail, free of Postage. 

Published and for sale by GARRETT & CO.i 

No. 18 Ann Street, New York. 



Nfe W NOVEL, BY THE AUTHOR OF " THE BIVOUAC 



THE ADVENTUEES 

OF 

CAPTAIN BLAKE. 

BY W. H. MAXWELL, 

Author of "The Bivouac; or, The Rival Suitors,' ' 
"Stories of Waterloo," "Hector 
O'Halloran," &e. 

Price 50 Cents. 



NOTICES OF THE PRESS. 



" This is another of the clever novels of the author of " Stories of "Waterloo," and an 
exceedingly humorous tale it is. Irish life of the past generation is pictured to the life, 
interspersed with anecdotes of well known men. Some recollections are given of the 
Field of Waterloo, and the whole is dove-tailed into an interesting narrative of the 
Parentage. Birth, Education, Exploits, and amours of a gallant and dashing son of Erin. 
All who want to pass a dull evening, or are in want of a hearty good laugh, we recom- 
mend to invest the sum of half a dollar in the purchase of this very readable book." — 
British Whig. 

" Maxwell has few equals and no superior as a romance writer. He is equally felici- 
tous in all he attempts ; whether he depicts the flashing of the ' red artillery,' the furious, 
headlong dash of a cavalry charge, the steady tramp of the infantry, and all the other 
pomp and circumstance of war ; or delineates with exquisite skill the emotions of the 
heart. But it if. for his rich and genial humor that we especially admire the works of this 
admirable writer. The ' Adventures of Captain Blake' is one of the best books that Max- 
well has yet produced, and is printed in a style worthy of its uncommon merit."— Morn- 
ing Star. 

"The adventures of Capt. Blake is a decided hit. It will prove one of the most popular 
novels of the season. The interest excited is very great, and we regret that it will not 
bear such division as would enable us to give an intelligible extract." — Weekly Dispatch. 

" The Adventures of Capt. Blake, by W. H. Maxwell, author of the 'Bivouac,' ' Stories 
of Waterloo,' &c. This is a book worthy of the author, whose fame has been established 
in several popular works. It is full of stirring scenes, and will be read with avidity."— 
Rochester Republican. 

'•The Adventures of Capt. Blake, we think, tend much to exalt and extend the fame of 
its author. We have hurried through its pages with an avidity which must find its apology 
in the interesting character of the incidents and the very vivid and graphic style in which 
they arc described." — Spectator. 

jgGg- Copies mailed to any address in the United States, Postage free, on receipt of 60 
cents. Address 

GARRETT & CO.. Publishers, 

18 Ann Street, New York. 



Complete in One Volume, Price 50 Cents. 

DR. VALENTINE'S COMIC LECTURES. 



First and Second Series — with Comical Portraits — the funniest 
and most Laughable Book ever put in print ! 

If you read this book, it will make you laugh, and you can't help it. The 
Sourest crab of a Quaker that ever dresed in drab, could not help smiling 
at the droll and mirth inspiring stories of Dr. Valentine. The first series 
contains some ten or a dozen portraits illustrating the favorite comic char- 
acters assumed by the Doctor in his public exhibitions ; and which have 
made him so celebrated throughout the United States. We have here Dr. 
Valentine as Aunty Piggin — as Tabitha Tiptongue — as Joab Squash — as 
the learned Phrenologist — as the big News-boy — as the laughing French- 
man — as Daddy Hague — as the Widow Gabbletongue — as the Hypochondri- 
ac ; or the man who imagined himself a' Teakettle with a broken bottom — as 
Plato Pug, &c. Besides the various lectures, this book contains over Forty 
of the Doctor's Droll Stories, told in his best style of laughter-provoking 
eloquence. Among the most famous of these stories are Si Hoselcruce's 
Courtship of Debby Iliggins — Jake Doolittle's Trip across the Big Pond — 
Curious antics of Mrs. Scruggins's Old Cow — Jonathan Hatchet and Timo- 
thy Greenhorn in New York — A Bundle of wants — Sam Doleful's Case — 
The lawyer Outwitted, &c. 

This first series is complete in itself, and is in no way connect- 
ed with the second Volume. 



(£()£ Sttorib Smc0 ot 

DR. VALENTINES COMIC LECTURES. 

This is likewise a book complete by itself. It contains a third more droll 
stories, though not quite so many engravings as the first. Those who have- 
got the first series will be sure to buy this also as soon as they can straight- 
en their faces to ask for it. Among the seventy-one laughter-provoking 
stories contained in this book of drolleries we notice — the Yankee who 
Courted the Fat Gal — Keceipt for making Mollasses Candy — Sophy Slow's 
Visit to the President — the Wonderful Mare — The Communipaw Examina- 
tion — Jonathan Screw's Adventures — The Courtship of Jerusha Snizzards 
— The Boy with a Short Memory — Speech of Lot Doolittle — Abe Kershaw's 
Speech at Washington — The Yankee in Court, or the Lawyer puzzled. 

Among the illustrations are — Dr. Valentine as Mr. Tloneyface — as Mr. 
Sourcrout — as Mike Bones — as Betsey Beeswax — as Seth Stokes, &c, &c. 
Altogether this is a very attractive book for persons fond of this kind of 
stories. — Price 50 Cents. 

Both of the above works are published, and for sale, wholesale 
and retail by 

GARRETT & CO., 18 Ann Street, N. Y. 



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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS^ 

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